


An Unexpected Family

by baconnegg, SlashLuvr



Series: An Unexpected Family [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Family, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Durin Family, F/M, Family, Family Shenanigans, Female Bilbo, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/baconnegg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashLuvr/pseuds/SlashLuvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the line of Durin's fate was altered, Bilbo was born Bella Baggins instead, and Thorin and his burgular have a whole whack of kids. </p><p>Caution: Pure, unapologetic fluff and feels. May induce cavities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Thrain’s a good name, soild-sounding.” Bella lets out a sigh, collapsing happily against the headboard. “What if it’s a girl? What should we call it then?”

“I thought I might leave that up to you.” Thorin crawls in beside her, sliding a thick arm around her shoulders. His other hand resting on her large stomach. “Boys’ names come from the father’s side, and girls’ from the mother’s.”

“Makes sense. But if she’s going to be raised here, shouldn’t she have a dwarf name?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re one of us now. If the queen can be a hobbit, then a princess can have a hobbit name.” Thorin presses a lingering kiss to Bella’s cheek. She ducks her head and laughs, for lack of a response. “Now, what about naming her after your mother?”

“We’re not calling her ‘Nightshade,’ if that’s what you mean,” Bella chuckles at her own joke. “And it was rather annoying when I was growing up. Someone would call ‘Bella!’ and we’d both come running.”

“I see. What about your grandmother?”

“Adamanta. Might have been her that created the family ‘girl names ending in A’ convention.” Bella chews thoughtfully on her lip, recalling her fondness for nature-based names. A little light goes off in her head. “What about Amarantha? After the amaranth flower?” 

“What are those?”

“‘There’s thousands of them growing up the side of the mountain, you blind fool.” Bella shakes her head. “They’re very pretty, brilliantly coloured, and bloom for an exceptionally long time.”

“Makes for a fine name, then. Amarantha it is.” Thorin rubs his wife’s belly through her nightdress. The baby kicks ever so slightly andh e curls his hand around the spot. “You’ll have to point them out to me tomorrow. You know I’m not the type to notice plants.”

“I will.” Bella kisses her husband goodnight and falls asleep wrapped safely in his arms.

* * *

_A Few Years Later_

“Oh no you don’t!” Bella rushes over and pulls the amaranth flower out of Thrain’s tiny fist. “Those don’t go in your mouth, dear. They’ll make you sick.”

“And we couldn’t have that.” A deep voice rumbles over her shoulder. She turns as Thorin reaches down and scoops up his son. “Have you two been having fun?”

“He certainly has. Can’t even walk and he’s already got the wanderlust in him. We’ll be chasing him for the rest of our lives.”

“He just has a lot of energy, it means he’s healthy.” Thorin takes Thrain’s little hand, still stained green from the flowers he’d pulled up. “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking. I do hope our next child is a girl.”

“Oh?” Bella smiles and reaches up to tuck a stray hair behind Thorin’s ear. “And why is that?”

“Well you see, for dwarves, if you have children you’ll surely have sons. But not everyone gets to have daughters. We call them our rare gems.” Thorin smiles down at Thrain, intently following a passing butterfly with wide eyes. “So if we’re blessed with another one,-“

“You mean when.”

“When we’re blessed with-When?”

Bella grins wider. She raises her eyebrows and rocks back on her heels, hoping Thorin’s faculties won’t be too slowed by a day of treasury review and he’ll catch up.

Thorin’s face at last breaks into a smile and he captures the hobbit in a tight embrace. After a long moment and several kisses, Thrain squawks irritably from between them and Thorin pulls back.

“Do your father a favour, little one.” Thorin holds the infant up to eye level. “Be as intelligent as your mother, but don’t use it to pull tricks on me. It isn’t nice.”

“That wasn’t a trick, it was a surprise. One you should have noticed without me telling you.”

Thorin grins and picks up Bella with his free arm, ignoring her shrieks of protest, and leads the three of them off to a deserved family supper.

**_ FIN _ **


	2. But With the Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we backtrack to Bella and Thorin's wedding.

“Almost, almost...there!” Dis smacks Bella’s shoulder once the necklace clasp is closed at last. “Sorry it’s not much, most of our family heirlooms were lost to Smaug.”

“Oh no, it’s more than enough.” Bella runs light hands over the bits of metal and gems clasped around her wrists, neck, ears, and hair. Here it is, her big day, and she keeps pinching herself. Unconvinced that it’s real. 

“Take a look at yourself.” Dis practically hauls the hobbit across her bedroom to stand in front of the mirror. “Now there’s a bride fit for a king. D’you like it?”

“It’s wonderful.” Bella smiles at the woman in the mirror, who so resembles her brother, even if she insists they’re nothing alike. When she looks at herself, her stomach tightens sharply. In an attempt to calm herself, she starts smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her brilliant green gown. One of the heirlooms that had survived tucked in a wardrobe, and had been tailored for Bella just recently.

The fidgeting does not go unnoticed by Dis. “You ought to eat something, I’ve heard you’re a fainter.”

Bella chuckles weakly and takes a seat in the nearest chair. “I’m alright, really. I just need a moment to breathe.”

“A hobbit without an appetite? I didn’t know such a thing existed.” Dis grins before noticing the knit of Bella’s brows. “You remember what you have to do for the ceremony?”

“Yes. I’ve gone over it so many times, I could do it in my sleep.” Bella looks out the window. Nearly three hours past noon, by the looks of the sun. “Looks like the weather is holding, that’s good. Rain just wouldn’t do for a wedding.”

_A_ wedding? Her wedding. Her wedding to Thorin Oakenshield, and subsequent crowning as Queen under the Mountain. The mountain she’d assisted in reclaiming, and then rebuilding over the course of the past four years. Now she’ll be living and raising a family within it. Bella can’t recall what she’d expected when she first ran out her door, contract trailing in the wind, but she’s quite sure it wasn’t this.

A sharp series of knocks rouse Bella from deep thought and Dis from intense observation. A gruff young voice is heard. “Are you ladies decent in there?”

A warm smile lights up Dis’ face. “Come in! We’re all dressed here!”

Fili and Kili bound into the room. A look about them says they’d be happy to have the feast now, and the ceremony later, in sharp contrast to their lavender-coloured finery. Fili’s eyes soften when they land on Bella. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Aye, she’s the loveliest halfling I ever did see.” Dis claps an arm around her older son’s shoulders, as the younger rushes to give Bella a hug. “Mind you, I’ve only seen the one- Kili, where is your good belt?”

“This is my good belt!”

“No, it isn’t. I just fixed the buckle this morning and left it on your bed. Go get it!”

“Mother, the ceremony’s about to start! I’m not going all the way back to my room for a belt!”

“Then I will! I won’t have you wearing a pony-lead about your waist at your uncle’s wedding.” Dis huffs and stomps towards the door. “And Fili, fix those braids of yours! You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

“ _Mother!_ ”

“Do as I say!” The door slams shut and the brothers shake their heads. They don’t bother apologizing. Bella’s learned a few things on her way to becoming a member of the family.

“Are you excited, Bella?” Fili asks, half-heartedly re-doing his braids.

“Very much so. How’s Thorin doing?”

“He got up too early and has been ready for hours. He sent us out a while ago, actually. Said he needed some time alone with his thoughts.”

“Oh, I see.” Fear lurches in Bella’s stomach. She’s far too old to be doubting a lover’s fidelity. But still, even dwarves can’t be immune to cold feet.

“Don’t worry about Uncle, he’s just trying to hide his excitement. Can’t let that famous Oakenshield scowl falter, people would talk.” Kili beams at her and Bella has to beam back. They both look so grown-up, and in many ways they are. The Battle of the Five Armies cost them their innocence, amongst other things. But they’re still the same dwarves that once tracked mud into her house.

“You have nothing to fear, my friend,” Fili adds. “I’ve never seen anyone so completely head-over-heels as he is for you.”

“Exactly! He wouldn’t give up his throne for just any-Ow!” Kili clutches the spot on his ribs where his brother has just elbowed him. “That hurt!”

Bella has the misfortune of taking a drink at that moment, and chokes on her water. “He would do what now?”

Fili glares sideways at his brother. “Nothing. That was a private conversation that we were not supposed to mention. Ever.”

“Well you’ve already failed on that account, so you might as well fill me in.” Bella stands, staring intently at the pair. “What’s this about his throne?”

Kili looks sheepish, scratching at the floor with the toe of his boot. “When Uncle was about to announce his engagement to you, he pulled us aside. He said if there was too much opposition to the king, ah, taking a hobbit as his wife, he would give up the throne to Fili and marry you anyways.”

“You must understand,” Fili says quickly. “A king is only one man, he has to have all these officials and whatnot to help him run things. If the whole of them were to oppose him, it would put the entire kingdom on shaky ground. He could even be putting his life at risk.”

“But luckily, that’s not what happened at all. You’ve been so involved with the reclaiming of Erebor, no one could oppose you joining the line of Durin! That’s good, isn’t it?”

Bella walks to the window, leaning heavily on the frame. Thorin had waited decades for the chance to fight for his throne. Undertaken an arduous journey with only the barest support when the chance came to take it back. Very nearly lost his life for it, but by some genuine miracle had lived. No thanks to Bella Baggins, who had thought him dead and ran off to play white knight to his nephews. The same nephews who are now saying Thorin would throw it all away just to be with her.

A hobbit.

A hobbit who had given up quite a bit to be with him, as well. Her last visit to the Shire had been two years past, to pack up her possessions and hand over Bag End to the Gaffer. If that hadn’t alienated her family enough, news of her engagement certainly had. Primula is the only one who still sends her letters, and had regretfully informed Bella that the rest of the family tree considers her quite mad.

But that was nothing in comparison. Here she was thinking it was Thorin bobbing on the mat, and Bella as the dedicated lover who could never waver. It is simple to love unconditionally as a carefree hobbit, not so for someone like Thorin.

“...Bella?” Fili says cautiously, disconcerted by the protracted silence. “You alright?”

This time, she doesn’t even get a “Nope” out before she drops to a heap on the floor.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees Dis’ broad hand fanning her and the absence of the Brothers Durin. “There y’are. What in Mahal’s name did my boys say to make you collapse like that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Nerves and an empty stomach are a bad combination. I’m fine” Bella gets back on her feet, more than a little embarrassed.

Dis smoothes the creases out of Bella’s clothes and tucks stray hairs back into her braided curls. She gives the hobbit a small smile. “It’s time we get going. Are y’ready?”

“Yes,” Bella says with all the resolve she can muster. She has a new contract to sign, a new adventure to take on. If she can return even a tenth of Thorin’s love, she’ll have succeeded.

**_ FIN _ **

** Epilogue **

“Attention! Could I please have your attention?” Gandalf stands up from his table, calling out over the din of the great hall. It’s filled to bursting with former Company members, royal officials, friends of friends, and of course, the line of Durin itself. The other residents of Erebor and Dale are engaged in a royal wedding celebration outside, loud enough to carry through the walls of the palace.

“ _Shazara!_ ” Thorin commands, quieting everyone. Although he would get a good laugh out of seeing everyone spooked by Gandalf’s Voice of Looming Doom, the wizard had already startled everyone well enough when he showed up. Not technically invited and in just enough time to set off some marvellous fireworks at the moment of Bella’s coronation.

“Thank you. I would like to propose a toast to the happy couple.” Gandalf tips his mug in their direction, that wry smile on his face.

“Here we go, our food will have molded by the time he’s done,” Thorin mutters under his breath. He feels a small hand grasp his wrist, and he looks down to find Bella gazing fondly at him. Thorin presses a quick kiss to her nose and presses her closer to his side.

“It has been said that love is- Wait!” Gandalf cries out, panic clear in his voice. “I cannot continue! We must stop!”

A shout of confusion goes up around the room, all wondering what could be causing the wizard distress. Thorin has his hand on his sword, poised to single-handedly take down whatever force would dare to disturb his wedding.

“I’ve forgotten my handkerchief!”

All the Company members keel over with laughter, and everyone else is caught up with it. Bella presses her reddening face to Thorin’s shoulder, but he’s helpless to do anything but hold her as he roars along with everyone.

“Here!” Bofur gasps, ripping off a corner of the tablecloth and tossing it at Gandalf, who catches it easily. “Use this!”

“Thank you, Master Bofur.” Gandalf grins at his own practical joke before holding up his ale mug once more. “To Thorin Oakenshield and Bella Baggins, King and Queen Under the Mountain, and two of the luckiest individuals I have known in all my life.”

Thorin uses the toast to consider the long and particular stare Gandalf gives him, and the way he’d emphasized the bit about luck. He at last turns and meets his wife’s warm gaze. “You look like you have something on your mind. What is it?”

Bella tries to play it off, runs her fingers across the hem of Thorin’s tunic. “This blue really brings out your eyes.”

“That’s nice, but really, what is it that’s bothering you?”

“Well, it’s just...” Bella trails off, choosing her words carefully. “I’m aware that dwarves are known to love as hard as they fight. And I just want you to be aware that hobbits don’t marry just anyone- Oh, blast it. Words are failing me today.”

“You think I doubt you?” Thorin can see the answer in her face before she says it. “I did that once, never again. We belong to each other now. There can be no more room for such nonsense.” As if to emphasize his point, he kisses her with surprising firmness, eliciting a few chuckles from nearby tables. Bella’s cheek reddens once more under the touch of his fingers. “The greatest thing I’ve ever done is place this crown on your head.”

“Save some of that for later, won’t you?” Bella laughs, for lack of anything else to do. “We have to eat all this food that’s been prepared for us.”

Thorin smiles at his hobbit. “As you wish, my queen.”

**_ Real FIN _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase “rode hard and put away wet” only has sexual connotations in modern times. It originally refers to a horse that’s been worked hard and penned up without being cared for. So Dis is saying her son looks like an ill-kept horse, rather than someone who’s just been violently shagged. Still not very nice, but on the better side of appropriate.


	3. Seven Dwobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the reprehensible fluffiness of this chapter. Next chapter will have plot and character development and things, really it will. For now, enjoy Thorin being a daddy.

** Thrain **

“Oh, for me?” Thorin takes the drool-covered ivory rattle and examines it. “Well, thank you. Good to see you’re learning generosity already.”

“Aga!” is Thrain’s only response. He lifts his hand to chew on his fingers, single tooth gleaming in the firelight. His face is almost contemplative as he surveys the room from his position on the floor.

It’s hard to believe that Thrain’s first birthday came and went over a month ago. Individual years used to bleed into each other for Thorin. Now, as he’s curled around his son on the hearthrug, mere hours seem of great importance.

“You look like Kili when he was your age.” Thorin musses the dark brown waves on Thrain’s head. “Don’t tell him that, he’ll find a way to boast about it.”

“Da-ah.”

“Yes, he can be quite ridiculous. But he’s got a good heart. You’ll get to fight alongside him when you’re older.” Thorin hands Thrain a wooden pony with wheels, a gift from Bofur. “Much, much older.”

“Agagaga?” Thrain holds the toy by one wheel, entranced by its simple movements.

“You’ll get one of these when you’re a bit bigger.” Thorin reaches out and lightly spins the other set of wheels, making his son’s eyes widen. “A real one. I’ll teach you how to ride, it’s quite easy. What do you think of that?”

Thrain pauses his gnawing on the toy’s flank. His chubby face purses in focus. “Pa...papa?”

Thorin forgot he would hear that. At all. From anyone. Unfortunately, his body is as stubborn as the mind it holds. His considerable surprise manifests as a frown. As usual, it’s rather impressively dour, even though it’s unintentional.

Thrain’s eyes well up before Thorin can correct his expression. He clutches the toy tight, wailing loud and high. Thorin hauls himself into a sitting position, scooping his son up and bouncing him in his arms. He hopes the noises he’s making sound soothing, Bella is much more skilled at this sort of thing.

“What happened?” Speak of the wolf and it will stand at your door. Thorin turns his head just enough to see the edge of a quilted dressing gown.

“I-He said ‘papa’ all of the sudden. I wasn’t expecting it. Not sure what my face did, but it seems to have frightened him.”

“Give him here,” Bella says in a warm voice. She takes Thrain and holds him close enough to kiss his forehead. “There, there, little one. Papa looks scary sometimes, but he’s really a pushover. When It comes to us, anyways.”

Thorin sighs, still seated on the floor. “Would you please not tease me in front of the child? He’ll give me lip when he’s older.”

Bella just continues smiling. “Can you say it again? ‘Papa?’ Can you say ‘papa?’”

Thrain blinks, tears disappearing as quickly as they came. “...Papa?”

“That’s right!” Bella kisses her baby’s cheek before shoving him at Thorin. “Show him some encouragement now, like we talked about.”

Thorin holds back a wince. Until recently, he wasn’t aware you had to coax children into talking. “Can you say ‘Papa’ again, little one? Hm?”

“Papa?”

Thorin tosses Thrain, just a few inches so as to avoid a fit from Bella, and catches him as stands. “That’s right!” A kiss on a soft cheek elicits giggles that, quite frankly, are too adorable to be coming from a creature that is only half-hobbit. “Let’s have some supper and put you to bed. Smells like your mother made us something good.”

“Mashed vegetables for the little sweetheart, and beef stew with bread for the big one.”

Thorin smiles as he watches Bella return to the kitchen. He looks down when he feels Thrain’s tiny hand tugging at a braid. “Rule number one, your mother is an exceptionally privileged person. Only she may refer to me in such terms with no consequences. Understood?”

“Aga!”

**Amarantha**

The grand halls and stairways of the palace are relatively quiet. Distant hums of people serving or settling down for supper fade in and out as Thorin strides towards the nearest balcony door. His hands continuously shift the squirming bundle in his arms, trying to keep it balanced.

“Good evening, my king,” Dwalin says, suddenly at his side. Thorin does not jump, he’s long grown out of that. His best friend and chief guard appears and disappears at his own whim. No point in attempting to understand it.

“Good evening to you as well.”

“Where are ya off to in such a hurry?” Dwalin’s steps begin to match his just as they step into the fresh air.

“Amarantha’s got a touch of jaundice.” Thorin halts and props the infant in the crook of his arm, pulling back some of the blankets. “Apparently, this is entirely common, and she just needs a bit of sunlight.”

“I was about to say, I don’t think she ought to be that colour.” Dwalin smiles and holds out a thick finger for the yellow-tinged infant to grasp. “How’s the queen? Recoverin’ alright?”

“She’s cooking a roast as we speak.” Thorin shakes his head. “I told her she doesn’t have to yet, but it’s just like the last time. Halflings get restless when they’re away from a stove for too long.”

Dwalin chuckles low in his throat. The ever-wiggling baby in Thorin’s arms manages to unravel the swaddling strips. Thorin tries to re-wrap the child with little success, much to Dwalin’s amusement. “Feisty little lass, aren’t you, Ama-Amar...?”

“Amarantha,” Thorin says with pride. “Indeed she is, she’ll really be something when she grows up. Not that I’m in any hurry for that to happen, eh? You can stay little as long as you like.”

Dwalin looks at the dark-haired, dark-eyed baby, who resembles her mother even now. Despite her squirming, Amarantha’s face is resolutely neutral. She appears to simply prefer motion to stillness. His gaze travels up to his oldest friend. Thorin’s looking at his daughter as if she holds all the answers in the world. “Well, well, never thought I’d see the day...”

“Which day would that be?” Thorin blinks in the setting sun.

“The great Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the Company, King under the Mountain, gone completely and hopelessly soft.”

“Bite your traitorous tongue!” There’s fondness in the threat, though Thorin would never admit it. “Looking after my own child makes me soft?”

“No, not that exactly. Just the way you’ve been actin’ since she’s been born. Almost brings a tear to my eye.”

“Oh, spare me. You’re being ridiculous.” Thorin pushes some stray hair out of Amarantha’s eyes. “Of course I’m acting differently, she’s a girl. It isn’t the same as it was with Thrain.”

“A woman makin’ you act like a fool? That’s new.”

“You are lucky that I am holding my child and cannot strike you appropriately. I can, however, order a day of particularly dull training exercises for the guards.”

“Thorin, come on-”

“Or two days.”

Dwalin makes to respond, but instead grins and shakes his head. “You’ve taken to fatherhood, I see.”

“Actually, I think it’s taken to me.” Thorin smiles back, removing his gaze from Amarantha for a moment. “Never thought I’d get to have a wife, you know? Or multiple children. Especially a daughter.”

“You’ve won fate’s lottery, my friend.” Dwalin claps him on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man.”

Thorin draws back a little from the friendly touch. He cannot help but be reminded of dear Ori, and his wife’s tragic death in childbirth of two years past. Dwalin’s face tells that he’s thinking of it as well. Being happy while others mourn never stops feeling discourteous.

Amarantha ceases her wiggling to squawk loudly and insistently. “Ah, you’re hungry again. Back inside we go.”

“How do you know she’s hungry?” Dwalin asks, a puzzled expression on his face as Thorin tries once more to re-wrap the infant.

“It’s different than her other cries,” Thorin says as if it should be obvious.

Dwalin shakes his head again. “Pathetic.”

“Yes, that is how you’ll be feeling after three days of drills. Sleep well, Dwalin.”

“Sleep well, your majesty.”

**Thror**

Thorin closes the door to the family’s rooms carefully behind him, afraid of waking the two little ones. He shuffles towards the small form curled up in the armchair, touching her shoulder lightly. “Is this what you wanted, love?”

“Oh yes, this is just what I needed!” Bella snatches the bag of salted beef out of Thorin’s hands, grinning widely. “I think this one’s a boy, for all the trouble he’s causing me. Thank you so much, I know it’s late.”

“Think nothing of it,” Thorin slides in next to Bella, lifting her onto his lap. “While you carry my child, I am yours to command.”

“I thought you would have gotten over that notion by now,” Bella says around half-chewed, salted beef. “If we keep this up, you’re going to start feeling like an indentured servant.”

“Too many obvious jokes with that. I’m not going to say any of them.” Thorin smiles and rests his cheek against her hair. “I just want to help in what few ways I can.”

Bella starts giggling, which Thorin finds both endearing and perplexing. She has been prone to sudden changes in mood this time, but Thorin has a feeling that isn’t the case this time. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking of a story my mother told me,” Bella replies, a hum of laughter still in her voice. “When she was carrying me and just starting to show, my father was acting rather funny. One day she went to have tea with a relative, my father stayed at home. When she came back, the house had been cleaned from floor to ceiling. Every speck of dust was gone, all the books were lined up, every nick was repaired.”

“That’s rather odd.”

“That was her reaction as well. When she asked him why he’d done all that, he said that he wanted to make things as easy as possible for her.” Bella pauses for a moment, leaning her weight more on Thorin and twisting the empty beef jerky bag in her hand. “I was quite young when she told me, and I asked what all that meant. She told me that any father worth his salt feels bad for not being involved in the child-bearing process, and makes up for it by turning into a nesting bird.”

Thorin tries and fails at holding back a smile. “You’re making fun of me again.”

“Someone has to.” Bella kisses Thorin on the nose. “But I am right, aren’t I?”

“Hmm.” Thorin presses a broad hand against her, where the swell of her belly disappears into her side. “I want to be involved. I’m absent enough from my childrens’ lives once they’re born, and before that, I’m left out completely.”

Bella goes to make some teasing remark about Thorin gaining the ability to nurse them, but stills her tongue when she turns to face him. He’s wearing that incorrigible distant look he’s worn for most of his life, Bella imagines. She knows that, as completely dedicated he is to his kingship, he longs for an alternate reality where he spends all day playing with his children and doesn’t have to wait until past dark to sit with his wife.

Bella takes Thorin’s hand in hers and moves it to a spot low on her belly. She pokes at her swollen stomach with her other hand, and the baby obliges her with an appropriately-placed kick. Thorin’s hand tenses on the spot, and he leans his head heavily on Bella’s shoulder. “I may be doing the heavy lifting, so to speak, but give yourself some credit. Without you, this one and the others wouldn’t be here.”

Thorin hums in response, eyes fixed on the source of the repeated kicks and movements.

“You take good care of me, and you’re a good father.” Bella kisses Thorin’s temple, tension relaxing under her lips. “Why did you wait until this one to get all self-conscious?”

Thorin shrugs, a deadpan expression on his face. “Dis used to call me slow, maybe she’s right?”

Bella laughs, soft and restrained, and tilts Thorin’s chin up for a kiss. More kisses and wandering touches follow, until Thorin’s arms envelop his queen and unborn child and he takes them all to bed.

**Dis**

“About damn time y’got here.”

“Good afternoon to you as well, sister.” Thorin steps past Dis and into the main sitting room. Dis’ rooms, as well as her sons’ accommodations just next door, are quite spacious considering how far removed they are from everything else in the palace. They were once his rooms, Thorin recalls as he sits down at a small table.

“Is my new niece in there, or did y’forget to throw your laundry in the basket?”

Thorin brings the bundle out from against his chest, in too good of a mood to take the bait. “All yours.”

Dis snatches the baby away and sits down, almost missing the chair as she eagerly peels back the swaddling. “Well, hello little one! You’re awful quiet. Is she sick or something?”

“No, just well-behaved. Like the last one.” Thorin rests his chin on his hand to hide a smile. Dis gets a little giddy around babies, it’s an amusing and rare sight.

“That’s right, you’ve got four now. Ach, I nearly forgot.” Dis runs a thumb over a soft cheek. Smiles as the baby just stares up at her, wide eyes set deep in her face and one pink finger in her mouth. “Speaking of which, get off her.”

“Pardon?”

“Bella, get off her.” A frown crinkles Dis’ face, and Thorin can’t help but notice they’re resembling each other even more as they age. “I know y’were pulling for that second heir, and this one is a darling, but enough already. You’ll wear the poor girl’s insides out.”

“You make it sound as if I’m forcing her, or she’s having children just to please me.” Thorin rubs his temple, feeling a headache coming on. “Hobbit women aren’t like their dwarf counterparts, they recover much more quickly.”

Dis laughs hard, sounding like a honking goose. She has to clutch the baby to keep from dropping her. “And y’know a lot about that, do ya? Tell me, brother dearest, at what point in your life did you push something the size of a melon out of your privates? I do believe I was indisposed on that occasion!”

“Bella’s grandmother had twelve children.”

The sarcastic smile on Dis’ face twists into something between disbelief and anger. “You’re lying! Go on and name them, I dare you!”

“Isengrim, Hildigard, Isumbras, Hildigrim, Isembold, Hildifons, Isembard, Hildibrand, Belladonna, Donnamira, Mirabella, and Isengard.” Thorin takes a moment to breathe, take out his pipe, and light it. “She has her family tree on the wall of her study if you’d like to confirm.”

Dis’ face is quite blank. “Well. Alright, then. You two are just getting started, I suppose.” The baby in her arms at last lets out a tiny squeak. “Speaking of hobbits, what name did Bella give this one? Rose? Daisy? Something pretty, I hope. She’s got your looks and’ll need all the help she can get.”

Thorin puts a great deal of effort into not smiling maniacally. “We decided to name her Dis.”

Dis’ face blanks again, but is covered by another frown in a second. “Quit pulling my leg, y’big fool. Bella wouldn’t do that. She told me how annoying it was being named after her mother.”

“Bella wanted to thank you.” Thorin reaches out to touch his sister’s arm, a rather risky move if he learned anything from his childhood. “She told me that if it wasn’t for all your help, she would have made a complete fool of herself. She credits you with her not running back to the Shire and ‘giving everything up.’”

Dis is silent.

“Bella also said since she didn’t get to have any siblings, she sincerely thinks of you as an older sister that came around a bit later.” Thorin smiles as his sister looks directly into his eyes. Checking to be sure he’s telling the truth.

“Damn that hobbit!” Dis stands up and marches into the kitchen. “She shouldn’t throw such blatant sentiment around like nothing! Naming her child after me! How embarrassing!”

Thorin watches his sister fish a biscuit out of a jar and take angry bites out of it. “I do believe you’re eating to hold back tears.”

“And I do believe you’re a massive pillock, what of it?”

“Are you going to give me back my child?”

“When she gets hungry.” Dis shifts her namesake up. A tiny hand reaches out to grab at her beard. “Or when y’invite me over for dinner, whichever comes first.”

Thorin shakes his head and puts out his pipe. “Of course, you’re welcome to come over any time.”

Dis looks sideways at Thorin as he slips an arm around her shoulders and leads her towards the door. “Y’mean, ‘any time provided she’s expecting or nursing and y’can’t get her drunk,’ right?”

“Exactly right.”

“Y’still upset about that rant she went on about your small feet?”

“Not upset, just baffled and a little disturbed.” Dis laughs and leans her head against her brother as they walk down the corridor. 

**Terra**

Bella rolls over in bed, awakening for a moment. She sees a blurry, broad form sitting on the edge of the bed, facing outwards. “Thorin, go back to sleep.”

“No.”

Bella forces herself to sit up, grieving the loss of sleeping bliss. “She’s practically all better, you don’t need to worry anymore.” 

“‘Practically’ isn’t good enough.” Now that she’s crawled her way across the bed, Bella can see Thorin’s large hand rocking the tiny wooden cradle ever so slightly.

Bella sighs into a tense shoulder. It’s been more than a week since their latest addition had caught a frightening fever. The baby had cried continuously, body as hot as a recently used anvil, and nose running heavily. Simply getting her to nurse was a struggle. The whole family had been on tenterhooks, and Oin had set up camp in their living room until two days ago.

“If she was still in any danger, Oin wouldn’t have left.” Bella whispers, straightening up to kiss Thorin’s cheek. “You must sleep, you have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I cannot, and I will not.” Thorin’s voice is nearly a growl, but the anger isn’t directed at her. “It is my fault that she is sick, and it is only right that I stay with her until she gets well. As much as I can, anyways.”

“Don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself.”

“Of course I am.” Thorin gives Bella a distasteful look that reminds her of their time on the Great East Road. “I never should have taken her that far from home, she’s only three months old. It wasn’t safe.”

“Her age makes no difference!” Bella hisses. “We were going on a picnic, of course we didn’t expect Orc scouts to show up!”

“I should have! I only brought my sword!” Thorin shakes his head, controlling his voice again. “I don’t understand why you’re not more worried!”

Bella pulls away from him and her eyes narrow. Oh, damn it.

“Oh, I see. I’m not worried enough about my own baby, hm? I should be more like you?” Bella slides off the bed, dodging Thorin’s reaching hand. “I suppose I should be the one sitting up late. I took her into the river with me, after all. This is all my fault.”

“ _Bella- _”__

__“I’m going to sleep in the living room. Come get me if she needs to be fed, unless you’re better at doing that too.” Bella almost slams the door, catching it at the last minute, and she’s gone._ _

__Thorin presses the heels of his hands against his eyes until he sees sparks of white. “I am such a fool.”_ _

__A thick gurgle catches Thorin’s attention. The baby squirms, snot running down her lip, and eyes watering. “Oh, Terra.” He gathers her up, cleaning her face with the edge of a linen blanket, since the parent possessing the handkerchief is fuming in the sitting room. Terra’s grumbling continues, not for being hungry. The child appears uncomfortable in her own skin._ _

__Thorin sets her back in the cradle, tucking a small quilt around her. He runs a hand over her warm head, rough calluses catching on irrepressible hobbit curls. “Go back to sleep, little one. You need rest.”_ _

__Terra blinks purposefully in reply, as if to wake herself up even more._ _

__“Come on, now. Close your eyes and sleep.”_ _

__Terra beats her balled fists against the air, as if to say a defiant “No!”_ _

__Thorin looks towards the door of the nursery attached to their room. No pitter-patter of little feet can be heard, the others must still be soundly asleep. Hopefully. Thorin picks up his youngest once more. “Alright then, we’ll do this your way._ _

___“Far over the misty mountains cold,_ _ _

___To dungeons deep, and caverns old,_ _ _

___We must away, at break of day,_ _ _

___To find our long forgotten gold.”_ _ _

__Terra lets out a yawn-squeak, pressing her cheek against Thorin’s chest. The song is almost a whisper, but the notes still resonate low and strong._ _

___“The pines were roaring on the height,_ _ _

___The winds were moaning in the night,_ _ _

___The fire was red, it flaming spread,_ _ _

___The trees like torches blazed with light.”_ _ _

__Thorin lets his voice fade on the last note, hearing Terra’s sleepy snuffles. It’s an exceptionally peaceful feeling, having a darling little creature doze comfortably on you. Not quite enough to make you forget that your beloved queen is writing a list of the ways she hates you in the next room, but close._ _

__Slowly, very slowly, Thorin leans back until he’s flat against the bed. Just a little rest, no more than half an hour. He’s barely closed his eyes since the Orc scouts attacked them. He’ll wake up when she cries out to be fed..._ _

__\- - -_ _

__Thorin opens his eyes, squinting in bright sunlight. Sunlight? He sits up so fast he nearly goes flying off the bed. Terra. Where is Terra?_ _

__“‘Morning.” Thorin twists around, somewhat reluctantly, to see Bella leaning against the pillows. Brown dress, white shirt, and underclothes pulled to one side so Terra can enjoy her breakfast._ _

__“Her appetite’s in full force again, that’s good.” Bella smiles down at the infant in her arms, who’s making so much noise it’s surprising the other young ones aren’t waking up._ _

__“Time.” Thorin’s voice is rough from morning dry-mouth. “What time is it?”_ _

__“A bit past six. I spoke with your secretary, your duties for the day is postponed until noon. Have a nap, you look like death warmed over.”_ _

__Normally, Thorin would have something to say about that, at least question how she was able to pull that off. Now he just casts his eyes downwards, searching the rumpled sheets as if they can offer him an answer._ _

__“So, are you going to apologize now, or stare at me wistfully for years on end? I know how you dwarves are.”_ _

__Thorin looks up to find Bella smiling. “I am very sorry, for last night. I never intended for you to take it that way. If it wasn’t for you,-”_ _

__“Apology accepted,” Bella cuts in. “I know dwarves never forget, but at least try. And come give us a kiss.”_ _

__“That’s oliphaunts, dwarves just choose to remember.” Thorin crawls across the bed, trying not to shake it too much. He presses a hand against Bella’s jaw, turning her slightly so the kiss can be deep and long. When he at last pulls back, Bella’s eyes are glazed over with promise of later. He has to kiss her cheek for that. Thorin then bends to press a kiss to Terra’s temple, which feels a bit less warm than the night before. He laughs when a tiny hand bats his face away._ _

__Thorin arranges himself and pulls the sheet sideways over him. Bella finishes nursing her rabidly hungry child and does her buttons back up. “I can’t sleep now, I’m too awake.”_ _

__“Sorry, you have to nap. Queen’s orders.” Bella grins down at him. “If you don’t go to sleep before the children get up, you never will. Do you need warm milk? A soft toy? Perhaps a lullaby?”_ _

__The way her eyes soften on the last part tell Thorin he wasn’t as quiet last night as he had hoped. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Know any good ones from the Shire?”_ _

__**Willow and Holly** _ _

__Dwalin nearly walks right by his king, like a fool. Sitting against the corridor wall and still as he could be, Thorin seems a part of the stone. He doesn’t even look up as he mumbles a “Hello.”_ _

__Dwalin slides down beside Thorin, leaving ample space between them. He nods towards the door at their left. “What’s wrong?”_ _

__“I don’t know. It’s never gone on this long before.” Thorin tenses for a long moment when a pained cry from Bella escapes through the heavy door. “I’m sorry to have sent for you at this late hour, but my last nerve is hanging by a thread.”_ _

__“Think nothin’ of it, not like I was doin’ anythin’ important.” Dwalin risks a direct glance at Thorin’s face. It’s twisted painfully and his eyes look red in the torch light. “Perhaps it’s a large baby. Thrain and Thror both took their time comin’ into the world, you could have a third son on your hands.”_ _

__“It’s more than the time,” Thorin shakes his head. “She was terribly ill at the start, could barely eat a morsel for weeks on end.”_ _

__“Aye, I remember that. But it did stop.”_ _

__“Eventually, yes, but she’s been having pains all the way through.” Thorin says curtly, shooting a glare at Dwalin. “And she’s been carrying low. And now this! I’m afraid for her life, Dwalin.”_ _

__Dwalin’s hand grasps Thorin’s shoulder, in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “She helped bring down Smaug. She’s fought many battles. If anyone could make it through a difficult birth, it would be Bella.”_ _

__Another cry, louder and longer, is heard.Thorin buries his face in his hands. “This was a mistake. We should have stopped after Terra. Why did I let her convince me she could have one more? That ring of hers be damned, she’s seventy-seven!”_ _

__“Thorin, old friend,-”_ _

__“Losing the child would be bad enough.” Thorin’s voice is small, Dwalin hasn’t heard it like that in a long time. “If anything happens to her, I will go mad. It’s not a question of _if_.”_ _

__“You have five other children, you wouldn’t leave them. I know you wouldn’t.”_ _

__“Five other children who will eventually learn how children are conceived and blame me for the loss of their mother. Rightfully so, at that.”_ _

__Dwalin can’t think of anything to say to that. He closes the space between them and moves his hand to Thorin’s other shoulder. Thorin leans into it, just slightly, and Dwalin can feel his breath grow a little less ragged._ _

__Bella’s cries grow louder and more frequent. With each one, Thorin shudders to his very core. Dwalin is silently repeating every prayer he can recall, and makes up a few of his own when he runs out. _Please, he’s been through enough already. Let him have his well-earned happiness, and Bella as well._ _ _

__A shrill cry that peaks at a truly ear-splitting pitch makes Thorin sit up straight. “That’ll be the head. It won’t be long now.”_ _

__They still for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. A smack followed by a newborn’s cry is heard. Thorin looks like he might melt to a puddle on the floor from happiness. But then Bella screams again, just as loud as the first. Thorin scrabbles to a standing position. “No, no, she doesn’t cry out like that twice! I need to go in there!”_ _

__Dwalin gets up and grabs Thorin’s forearm. “No! You can’t go in! You’d be more of a hindrance than a help anyways!”_ _

__Thorin twists out of Dwalin’s grasp, smacking his hand like a frightened child. “I don’t care! I‘m going!”_ _

__“Oh no you aren’t!” Dwalin manages to get both hands around Thorin’s shoulders, lifts him an inch or two off the ground, and pins him against the wall. Thorin is rightfully displeased, spitting and cursing in Dwalin’s face like he did when he was a lad. “Easy there, friend. Easy.”_ _

__Thorin halts his escape efforts when Bella gives a low, lengthy groan. He freezes like a deer, eyes stuck to the door beside them. Dwalin might get teary-eyed at the whole thing, were he not occupied in keeping a leash on his king’s sanity._ _

__Oin appears at the door moments later, raising an eyebrow at the scene and waving Thorin in. Dwalin lets his friend go, not even getting offended when Thorin shoves him hard in his rush to the door. Oin shuts the door once more, blocking the echo of newborn screeches, and Dwalin waits._ _

__Within seconds, he hears Thorin’s booming laugh. It’s uncontrolled, and sounds as if it will never stop. Dwalin’s heart sinks to his boots. Three kings in a row meet tragic ends, that’s bad enough for everyone. The dear hobbit is now dead or close to it. Worst of all, he’ll have to watch the man he’s seen grow from childhood either fade away or be locked up like a madman. This is a horrendous day._ _

__A scuffling is heard at the door, before it is thrown open and shut again in an instant. Thorin is nearly chest-to-chest with him, face glowing like the Arkenstone as he shoves two bundles into Dwalin’s face. _“Look!”_ _ _

__Two babies. Two live, healthy-looking, squalling babies wrapped in quilts. Dwalin takes one in each wide hand for lack of anything else to do. “Well, I’ll be! How is Bella?”_ _

__“Fine! Completely fine!” Thorin’s still laughing, he can’t get a hold of himself. Dwalin mentally records the sight for potential future mocking material. “Tired, of course. But nothing unusual. Can you believe this?”_ _

__“I’ve heard of this, never thought I’d see it!” Dwalin passes one of the bundles to Thorin, shaking his head. “Twins, of all things. Do they have names yet?”_ _

__“This one is Willow,” Thorin props up the baby in his arms, grinning at it. “It was the name Bella had planned, and she’s a few moments older.”_ _

__“Ah, you’ll have to think of a name for this one, then.” Dwalin tickles the younger one’s chin, laughing when it tries to nip at him with toothless gums._ _

__“Bella said she was thinking of ‘Holly,’ since it’s an evergreen.”_ _

__“That’d be fitting.” Dwalin just now notices the winter chill seeping through the halls, having been distracted up till now. He’s handing the little one back to her father when a thought finally occurs to him. “Two more daughters? In addition to the three you already have? I think might be wise to invest in some larger closets.”_ _

__The pair laugh possibly a little too hard at that. Thorin’s head bumps against his guard’s shoulder, and Dwalin hangs onto his king for support. They’re both overtired, it can’t be helped. Finally they control themselves, and Thorin turns to bring the babies back to their waiting mother._ _

__Dwalin smiles warmly at Thorin, still beaming like a child who successfully snatched the cookie jar. “Maybe it’s a sign.”_ _

__Thorin pauses, one hand holding noisy babies and the other on the door handle. “A sign of what?”_ _

__Dwalin shrug, trying not to appear overly sappy. “Maybe this is Mahal saying we’ve suffered long enough, and it’s our turn to prosper again.”_ _

__Thorin is silent for a moment, his eyes shining. “You could very well be right. Good night, Dwalin. And thank you.”_ _

__“Good night, your majesty. Give my best to Bella.”_ _

__Frodo_ _

__“For the third time, Gandalf, why have you brought him here?”_ _

__“For the third time, Thorin, because this is where he needs to be.” The incredulous look the wizard is giving him makes Thorin’s teeth grind. “He has great potential, and it will amount to nothing if he is to stay in the Shire. You’re not afraid of a young hobbit, are you?”_ _

__A lithe hand grasps Thorin’s shoulder in the nick of time, and Bella interjects at last. “Speaking of which, how _were_ you able to bring Frodo here in the first place?”_ _

__Gandalf shuffles across the study, appearing intrigued by an encylopedia on the shelf. “Quite simply. I told the Brandybucks what I have told you, and they entrusted the boy to my care.”_ _

__“I’m afraid I find that hard to believe,” Bella’s voice sounding as tight as her husband’s now. “Primula and Drogo were the only ones not complicit in my dismissal from the family tree. I doubt their orphaned child was given up to me without a fight.”_ _

__Thorin ceases his attempt at glaring the wizard into sanity and glances at his wife. There’s a glassy look to her eyes, suggesting she’s remembering Primula’s communications abruptly ceasing nine years ago, only to be followed by a brusque letter explaining the drowning accident. Bella had been inconsolable, weeping for ages over the loss of a dear friend and her last link to home. Not to mention the orphaning of a kindly little lad, who was now tucking into a jam sandwich in the adjacent sitting room._ _

__Gandalf directs a warm smile at Bella. “Do not worry, my friend, there will be no Brandybucks beating down your door. I promise you that. Frodo is yours to keep.”_ _

__“Do you?” Thorin lets anger bleed into his voice. He is altogether tired of vague wizards and could really go for a lie-down right about now._ _

__“Yes! Have I ever steered you wrong in the past?”_ _

__“Very nearly, multiples times.”_ _

__“And here I thought age and children had softened you, Thorin. I suppose I was wrong.” Gandalf smiles in that particularly condescending and irritating way of his. When his eyes fall on Bella, something strange and long seems to pass between them. A conversation takes place without words. Even Thorin can’t bring himself to interrupt. “I’ll see myself out. Take care.”_ _

__Goodbyes are said and Thorin and Bella find themselves left in peculiar silence. Thorin runs a hand lightly over her braids, earning a small smile. “You’re alright with it, then?”_ _

__“Alright with what, love?”_ _

__“You know, adding another child to the mix. Some time after we decided we have enough already. I know it’s not the best thing to have thrown in your lap out of nowhere.”_ _

__Thorin leans down to kiss away the strain from the corners of her eyes. “If the day comes that I turn away my own wife’s kin, I should be stripped of my crown.” Bella’s face lights up in a way that always makes Thorin’s heart speed up, even after all these years. “And I loathe to admit it, but Gandalf is probably right. Come, let’s greet the boy properly before we completely ruin his first impression of us.”_ _

__Frodo jumps to his feet when the door to the study opens. A few crumbs are clinging to his chin, and his stunning blue eyes open even wider, which Thorin hadn’t thought was possible._ _

__“Sorry about that, dear,” Bella says in the same voice she uses with the young ones. “Didn’t mean to leave you stranded out here. Tell me, are you sure you feel alright about living with us? I know we’ve never met, though your mother told me so much I feel as if I know you already.”_ _

__“I feel the same about you, Aunt Bella,” Frodo says brightly, voice cracking at the edges with the first hints of adulthood. “Mother told me all about your adventures. When Gandalf told me I could live with you, I ran and packed my bags right away!”_ _

__Bella laughs, fond embarrassment colouring her voice. “I’m afraid my adventuring days are long behind me, but I’d be happy to tell you about them any time you like. You’re content to stay, then?”_ _

__Frodo nods quickly. “Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll fit in here, but I am sure it’ll be better than Brandy Hall. It was never the same after Mother and Father died, I felt like a fifth wheel.”_ _

__“I hope you’ll come to feel at home, Frodo.” Thorin says a tad gruffly, feeling like a fifth wheel himself. “We’re very welcoming to hobbits in Erebor.”_ _

__“Thank you, your Majesty.”_ _

__A slight smile lightens Thorin’s face. “No need for formalities at home. Just ‘Uncle’ will do.”_ _

__Frodo smiles up at the dwarf king, eyes crinkling in nervousness. “Very well, Uncle.”_ _

__“Now, let’s see about getting you a room-” Thorin is cut off by the oldest three children bursting through the door. They’re covered in dirt and taunting each other at an absurd volume until Amarantha spots the three and shushes her brothers._ _

__“Hello Father, Mother,” A diplomatic smile contrasts sharply with the tall girl’s grimy face. “Who’s this guest of ours?”_ _

__“This is Frodo, your cousin thrice-removed.” Bella claps a hand on Frodo’s tiny shoulder. “Primula’s son. Gandalf brought him and he’ll be staying with us from now on.”_ _

__“Huh, that’s rather sudden,” Thror says. Thorin hopes his eyeroll goes unnoticed. They don’t know the half of it._ _

__“No matter!” Amara crows, rushing forward and crouching to get on Frodo’s level. “My name is Amarantha, you can call me Amara. You must be tired after that long journey, could probably use a nap. You’re a cute one, aren’t ya? You must be a little heartbreaker with all the lasses, eh?”_ _

__Frodo’s serene face scrunches in annoyance at Amara’s blatantly patronizing tone. “Excuse me, but I am twenty-one-years-old! I am not a little anything.”_ _

__“And hobbits age a bit faster than you dwarfs do. He’s nearly as old as you are, really.” Bella controls her tone, trying so very hard to be a good mother and not laugh at her thirty-year-old daughter’s reddening face._ _

__“Oh.” Amara stands up, silencing her snickering brothers with a Thorin-like glare over her shoulder. “Please accept my apologies. It is just that you are terribly small.”_ _

__“And you are terribly tall,” Frodo says in teasing, choosing to smile at the obviously uncomfortable girl. If it wasn’t for her height and hair, both indefinitely from her father, she would be an exact copy of Bella. Though she certainly doesn’t seem to act like Bella, at all._ _

__Amara’s blush fades and she chuckles in return. “Allow me to introduce you to these strangers behind me. This is Thror, my younger brother.” Thror gives a delayed wave. “And this is Thrain, oldest of us all and heir to the throne.”_ _

__Thrain’s welcoming smile is more of a grimace. His hand unconsciously moves to brush some hair in front of his eye patch, but the burn scars of a few years ago still glow red on his face and neck. “Nice to meet you, Frodo.”_ _

__“And you as well,” Frodo’s response comes after a pause. He’s staring at Thrain like a young child entranced by a bedtime story. Thrain’s not entirely sure what to do with that. “Exactly how many of you are there?”_ _

__“Seven in total,” Amara answers. “Though we won’t see Dis, Terra, or the twins until the dinner bell rings, I’m sure.”_ _

__“Which it will quite soon, so you three better get washed up now.” Bella examines their dishevelled states more closely and raises an eyebrow. “What were you doing, anyways?”_ _

__“Catching these!” Amara reaches into the sack at her side and retrieves six large, already-bled rabbits. “I caught three! I was just thinking we should use the skins to make Frodo a proper coat. I reckon winters are harsher here than in the Shire. Would you like that, Frodo?”_ _

__Frodo pales a little, staring at the open necks of the rabbits being waved in his face. “Um, as long as you weren’t planning on using them for something else?”_ _

__“No, it’s fine! I’ll skin them right now before the meat spoils!”_ _

__“You’ll be late for dinner!”_ _

__“It won’t take long, Mama! Come on Thror, you get to help since you only caught one.” Amara fairly drags her brother from the room, casting one last overly-wide smile at the little hobbit._ _

__Bella sighs, pats Frodo’s shoulder, and leaves for the kitchen. Thorin follows closely behind. Thrain and Frodo are left alone._ _

__“Welcome to the family, little one.” Thrain attempts a welcoming expression again, before heading for the nearest basin. “I’ll see you at the dinner table.”_ _

__“Um, Thrain was it?” The prince halts and faces the hobbit once more, confused by the eager look on his face. “Do you think, when you have a moment, you could tell me about your adventures?”_ _

__“Adventures? Whatever do you mean?”_ _

__“Well, it’s just,” Frodo bites his lip, at war with his own manners. “It seems you’ve had some of your own, like your mother and father did all those years ago.”_ _

__Thrain is silent for a moment, before shaking his head and smiling. “It might take me a while to attend to that, I’m afraid.”_ _

__“I can wait! I will be staying here, after all.”_ _

__“Very well then. I’ll see you later, Frodo.” Thrain nods and leaves the bright-eyed little hobbit, feeling in a strangely better mood than before._ _

__**_ FIN _ ** _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A detail I wasn't able to work into the story: For reasons having to do with my weak skills in math and Thorin and Bella's very healthy relationship, the children are born nearly exactly four and a half years apart. For example, when the twins are born, Thrain is 22 and a half, Amarantha is eighteen, etc. 
> 
> Also, from what I've read, dwarf children's actual age is half their calendar age. So here Amara is thirty, but is actually fifteen in terms of maturity. Hobbits are a bit trickier, but it's safe to say that Frodo's the equivalent of thirteen here.


	4. An Unexpected Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo, being a cute little Hobbit, asks if Thrain would come spend the night in his room. Thrain tells Frodo the story behind his many scars.

If Frodo could say one thing about today, it would be that he didn’t expect to find his company so wanted. Frodo had met the rest of the children as promised, at dinner, and got to know them little by little as the meal went on. He watched the twins as they ate, chewed, and swallowed almost synchronized with each other. Dis had brought a book to the table, reading it on her lap as she ate slowly. Terra flung food at Thror, who was trying to draw a portrait of the family’s newest member, while Amara kicked her under the table for being so rude to her older brother. Frodo gawked at the children who each seemed to be in their own little world. All of them had defining characteristics, but he noticed one particular boy was not showing anything to him at all; Thrain.

Frodo had been quite confused by Thrain, honestly. When he’d asked him about his adventures, Thrain seemed to not know what he had meant. He almost acted like he didn’t even know what an adventure was, which Frodo knew was entirely untrue. With the look that Thrain had given him, he didn’t know what to think. And what exactly did he mean about “taking a while to attend to” the stories? Frodo was a patient Hobbit, but it was puzzling his small head as to why the Prince worded it that way. Maybe he’d lost someone that day? Frodo would just have to wait and see.

“Now Frodo,” Thorin smiled, giving the boy a small bowl of soup. “You need to eat your supper.

Frodo looked at the soup, feeling queasy remembering the bunnies thrown in his face earlier that day. “Uncle Thorin, I don’t really like rabbits. Well, not eating them anyways.” He pushed the bowl a inch away from him, causing Amara to give him a look of disappointment. 

“Oh? And why is that, dear boy?”

Frodo sat there for a moment, remembering the rolling fields and beautiful little bunnies he used to see by his family’s house every morning. He remembered giving his bunnies a little bit of his mother’s carrots, and even some berries a few times a day. He named every single one that strolled up to him. One was named Bonnie, who was one of his favorite bunnies. He always gave her the most food. His mother was so nice about the bunnies, always giving Frodo a small bowl of berries and such to give to them, and the other animals that decided to visit every once in awhile. So, Frodo gave his Uncle the only explanation that he could think of at the time.

“Well, they remind me of home and my mother.”

Thorin gave the small hobbit a look of regret. He got up and took the soup away from the child with a smile. “Well, I’ll take that then.” 

Frodo tried to backtrack in his head as his Uncle took away his soup. Did he hurt his feelings? Did he say something wrong? He looked up at his Aunt, who was giving him a small smile, grabbing his hand from across the table. 

“It’s okay, love. Your uncle just doesn’t want you to eat it if you don’t feel comfortable doing so. He isn’t upset, I promise.” With another smile, Bella gave Frodo a dinner roll, to make up for the soup he didn’t eat. “Now eat up, Frodo! We still need to get your room in check, then get you ready for bed!”

Frodo gave his Aunt a big smile, though he couldn’t help but think that he’d upset his Uncle. One day, hopefully he will make it up to him. He puts that on his checklist of things to do while living with Aunt Bella and Uncle Thorin, and eats the dinner roll with big excited bites.

***

After dinner, as well as dessert, Frodo and Bella went to get his room ready and him tucked into bed. Frodo had gotten his favorite pajamas, stuffed bear, and jumped into the dwarf-sized bed. He took notice of how amazing the goose feather mattress felt, and how he will never sleep in a carriage ever again. He nestled himself in the blankets, sighing deeply into them. Bella giggled at her nephew, making sure that he was tucked comfortably into his bed. Frodo gave his Aunt a sleepy grin, before waking up completely again in just as little time. 

“Aunt Bella, I don’t really want to sleep in here all by myself...can Thrain maybe sleep in here with me? I promise I’ll go right to bed!”

Bella smiled at the small boy, surprised that he asked for Thrain in particular. She had noticed at dinner that Frodo seemed rather keen on learning more about him, just by the way he was looking at her eldest. Bella had prayed that someone would take a liking, or at the least curiosity, in Thrain, for she was worried about his drastic decline of self confidence. Now her prayers were being answered by her nephew, or at least she hoped. 

“I will go see if he’s still awake, love. Okay? You wait here!” 

Bella ran off down the hall, towards Thrain’s room. She noticed how even his quarters seemed gloomy now. His room was the last in the hall, surrounded by no one. This was at the request of her son, since he’d said he wanted to be alone in peace and quiet when his father gave him papers or other things to do for his lessons. Bella opened the door to see Thrain unbraiding his hair to get ready for bed. Bella noticed that the scars on his chest and stomach looked a little irritated, making her worry about them scabbing and getting uncomfortable again. 

“Love, your scars look irritated. Are they bothering you?”

Thrain looked up at his mother, immediately looking down again and covering his face with his hair. He mumbled, “No, Mama, they’re fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Bella was about to ask her son why he was being shy, when she noticed his eyepatch on his bench with his dirty clothes. Bella gave him a small smile, slowly moving her son’s large mane away from his face. He still was trying to hide his eye, which looked like it wasn’t getting any sunlight at all, making it quite pale. 

“My dear, you know that Oin told you to give your scars some air, which includes your eye.” Bella lightly tapped on Thrain’s nose, making him smile shyly at his mother from under all that beautiful hair of his. 

“I know, Mama.” Thrain’s smile quickly faded, as he hid himself completely in his hair. “I just don’t like people seeing my eye...It looks disgusting.” Thrain sat on his bed, gripping his pillow tightly.

“My dear, you are a most handsome dwarf, even with the scars. You can’t help what happened to you. It was the Orcs that did this to you and no one else, you understand? They are foul creatures that don’t know when to stop fighting.” Bella placed her hands on either side of Thrain’s face, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Thrain winced slightly, his mother’s lips making his scar feel a bit funny, but he quickly pushed that thought away. He grabbed his mother, giving her a big hug. 

“Thank you, Mama.” Thrain gave his mother a big goodnight kiss on the cheek, starting to get into bed when Bella remembered why she came into the room in the first place. 

“Thrain, I have a favor to ask of you. Frodo seems scared to sleep by himself, and asked if you would mind sleeping in his room tonight? It would mean a great deal to him, Thrain.” 

Thrain looked at his mother, seeing how much she wanted him to do this. He noticed after Frodo had tried to ask him politely about his scars that the small lad had stared at him through all of dinner, while giving him a big smile and eyes to match. As funny as this was, Thrain couldn’t get that look out of his head. Those big blue eyes looking at him with so much wonder poked at something deep in his heart. Pride? Love? Call it what you must, it felt wonderful. He wanted nothing more than to make sure that Frodo was safe and comfortable, for he was a Hobbit and Hobbits need comfort!

“It would be my honour, Mama. I’ll make sure cousin Frodo is feeling comfortable and safe while he sleeps.” Thrain quickly got on his pajamas, grabbing an eyepatch and was about to leave the room when his mother pulled him back into a Hobbit hug.

“Thank you so much, love. I can tell he already looks up to you. I’m just glad that you feel so strongly about helping him through this new chapter in his life.” 

“You’re welcome, Mama.” Thrain quickly grabbed his bedroll before he gave his mother one more hug and kiss goodnight, before heading out of the room and down the hall.

It was things like this that reminded Bella that she was getting older every day. She watched as her almost-forty-four-year-old son walked down the hall, looking like a man. His back was broad, his stride bigger, and he looked so much like his father. Bella knew that he was on rocky waters with Thorin right now, but she couldn’t help but think that one day, sooner or later, that was going to change. Bella wanted no more than for her son to smile properly again, and she couldn’t help but hope that Frodo might help him do so. 

***

Frodo sat in his bed, sleep taking over him as he waited for his Aunt to come back into the room. He was hoping Thrain would come in. Frodo really hoped he wasn’t being too clingy with the older dwarf, but Thrain was the only one that he felt comfortable with. The others were very good children, but Thrain was more...Hobbit than say, Amara or Terra. Though Frodo had to admit, he was rather excited to hear all about Thrain’s adventures! Of course, if he didn’t feel comfortable, then he wouldn’t pry at the Prince. After all, Frodo really looked forward to making some sort of friendship with him. 

At that moment, a small knock was heard, followed by Thrain himself! Frodo was about to greet him when he noticed Thrain’s eye. It looked horribly painful. There was a large scar that seemed like a claw mark running from the top of his eyebrow all the way down to the middle of his cheek. Frodo also noticed that the scars looked rather infected as well. Judging by the shape of his eye socket, Thrain had lost his eye. Whoever did this to him must have hurt his eye enough that it had to be removed. When Frodo snapped out of his thoughts, he noticed that Thrain was giving him a very curious look before quickly trying to cover up his eye. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Frodo! I hope that it didn’t frighten you!” The prince found his patch, quickly dropping everything to place it over his eye. “I know. It’s disgusting, is it not?” Frodo quickly threw his hands up in the air to reassure the Prince.

“Oh no, not at all! I was just wondering if you should let it breathe? I don’t mind it, really. It looks like you don’t take off that patch much.” Thrain looked at the small one for a few more moments before letting out a small laugh. 

“Well, don’t you just sound like Mama! She told me the same thing a moment ago.” 

“You really should, though. I’ve read that it could get horribly infected and cause you to lose-” Frodo stopped once a finger was pressed to his lips. “You must be quiet, little one. You’re smack dab in between Amara, and Mama and Papa.” The older man motioned to the left, giving the hobbit a wink. “Trust me, you don’t wanna wake up Amara. I think she’d kill a bear if it woke her up!” Both boys let out a few snickers, before Thrain had settled into the bed beside Frodo. 

Frodo gazed at the skin peeking from the pajama hem raising a little higher, taking notice of how many scars the man really had. There were so many that some were actually scars upon scars. Frodo winced thinking about how much pain Thrain must have been in. He probably couldn’t sleep for a long time, since there were some scars that looked rather horrible. The other scars were also quite bad, but they paled in comparison to the ones on his back. Frodo also noticed that there were scars on the bottoms of his feet, which made the halfling feel worse. The poor boy wasn’t even spared to walk! 

“Little one, what’s wrong? You’re shaking like a leaf!” Frodo felt a blush as Thrain sat on the bed, grabbing the blanket and tucking him in. Frodo couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Thrain, hugging him as tightly as he could.  
“I’m so sorry, Thrain! If I ever see the people who did this to you, I’ll hurt them! They won’t hurt you anymore!” 

Thrain looked at the boy before it dawned on him as to why the boy was acting so strangely, he was upset about his scars. Thrain knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help feeling proud. Here was a small child, who obviously looked up to him enough to care about his scars. The small one did not recoil in disgust. He wanted to avenge Thrain for the pain he’d been through. 

Thrain let a laugh escape his mouth, before hugging the small child back. “My dear Frodo, how brave you are! You are a Baggins from the inside out!” 

“I-I am?”

“Of course you are!” Thrain got out of the bed, grabbing a candle and match. He ran the match across his teeth, making the small child gasp. He lit the candle, placing it onto the bed stand nearest them. Thrain grabbed the Hobbit, placing him on his lap. He noticed the little one blushing, making Thrain smile tenderly at the child. He looked down at the halfling for a moment, understanding what needed to be done. Thrain ran his hands through Frodo’s hair, watching him blush deeper. He grabbed the clasp for his braid, placing it into Frodo’s hand before gathering a thick chunk of hair and setting the clasp into place. He wanted to braid it, but the little one’s hair was just too short at this time. 

“Dear Frodo, would you like to hear the story behind how I got these scars?”

Thrain watched the child think things through for a second before politely whispering. “Yes, please.”

“Well, my sweet Frodo, it was not out of bravery or courage that I got these scars. It was out of hate and anger.” Thrain kept running his hands through the small one’s hair, making him relax under his touch. “I got these scars from...Orcs.”

Thrain felt Frodo flinch, watching the young boy whip his head up before stating “Those are what killed Aunt Bella’s parents!” 

The older one froze his hands, placing a hand under the child’s chin to direct his eyes to him. “R-really? Mama never told me what happened to Gramma Baggins. How dreadful!” 

“Yes, they raided the village and Belladonna wouldn’t take any of it! She killed six by herself before they got her. Hobbiton still knows them both as the village’s heros.” 

Thrain let that information seep in before moving on with his own story. He remembered seeing his mother, so stricken with grief. So she must have been scared that he had met the same fate as her parents had. He found a new strength in his mother that he never thought that she had, taking huge pride in her. Thrain resumed his motions, feeling the boy’s body slacken again as he massaged the boy’s scalp.

“I was on my very first Orc raid. In Erebor, it’s part of a boy’s coming-of-age ceremony.”

Frodo looked up at Thrain, suddenly quite scared. “I won’t have to do that, will I? I’m not as brave as Aunt Bella!” 

Thrain gave the boy a quick smile. “No, I don’t think so, Frodo.”

“Oh, thank goodness!”

Thrain laughed loudly, before stopping himself. He cleared his throat, going on with his story.

“I lost sight of my father at some point and was just trying to find my way home. I had been walking around for quite some time when the Orcs had found me alone. They noticed who I was, taking this as a sign that the line of Durin would fall for what Father had done to Azog.” Frodo gasps, making Thrain laugh. “They lit a big bonfire, and pretty much roasted me like I was their next meal. At some point, they grabbed knives and cut me open in some spots, but it was mostly burns. They burned nearly every single inch of my skin, even the bottoms of my feet.” 

Frodo looked up at Thrain, appearing perplexed. “Wait, does that mean that even your, erm, your,-” 

Thrain knew what Frodo was trying to ask, making him shift uncomfortably on the bed. “Y-yes, Frodo.”

“Ouch...” 

“Moving on.” 

“I’m sorry, Thrain.” 

“Of course. I was eventually found and brought back home, where I was treated by Oin every day for a year. Now I just get check-ups every week or so.”

Frodo sat still, trying to grasp all of the things that had happened to the heir of Erebor. Even at such a young age, he went through turmoil and pain beyond measure. Frodo was proud of Thrain, for keeping himself going, for he knew how disgraceful it must be to come back from you first Orc raid and have been so severely hurt. If Frodo knew one thing about dwarves from his studies, it was that they were full of pride for defeating Orcs, and not so much by scars they’d leave. The halfling gave his new friend a big hug, kissing the man lightly on the cheek. “Thank you for telling me about your adventure, Thrain. It gives me great pride that you trust me enough to tell me your story.” 

Thrain grabbed the young boy, hugging him tight again. “You’re most welcome, little one.” Thrain let the small one droop into his chest, before falling into a light sleep. Thrain pushed some hair out of his face, then blew out the candle. He fell into the bed, keeping the small hobbit close to his chest. He gently kissed the top of Frodo’s head. “Goodnight, my dear Frodo. May your dreams be filled with flowers, rolling fields and the comforts of the Shire.” 

For the first time in 4 years, Thrain slept all the way through the night without a single nightmare filled of Orcs, fire and screams. 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all like this chapter! It has been a BLAST writing it!
> 
> By the way, Thrian would technically be around 22 when this happens. He also acts a bit like a child when it comes to his mother. Thrain is a HUGE Mama's boy!


	5. Proud as an Eagle's Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin's first daughter kicks ass, takes names, and has more speaking lines than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! College is a time thief. 
> 
> Quick correction: Due to a math error by yours truly, in the last chapter we said Thrain was nearly forty-five when Frodo arrives. Actually, he was nearly thirty-five. Sorry for the confusion! 
> 
> Trigger warning for mild violence, including a spot of deer hunting.

_“-I survived by some strange twist of fate. And thanks to your mother, so did Fili and Kili. Not too long after that, with much hard work on everyone’s part, Erebor was restored to its former greatness.” Thorin smiles at the three little children sitting raptured at his feet. “How was that for a bedtime story?”_

_A flurry of chatter went up from the children. Thrain, Amarantha, and even little Thror, all trying to talk excitedly over each other. Bella walks in smiling, patchwork dressing gown round in the middle with yet another child. “Now, now, that’s enough for one night. Off to bed, all of you.”_

_Thrain and Thror grumble and pout, reluctantly toddling after their mother. Amara makes to follow, then stops suddenly and rushes back to cling to her father’s leg with all her strength. “That story makes me sad, Papa!”_

_Thorin bites his lip, suddenly reconsidering the suitability of the story. “I’m sorry, my dear one. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”_

_“I’m not frigh’ened!” Amara says, tears flooding her eyes as Thorin tilts her chin up. “At the start, I really wanted to have an adventure like you and Mama. But now it’s over, and I can’t!”_

_Thorin, thoroughly confused, lifts the nine-year-old onto his knee. “And why can’t you?”_

_“‘Cause you fought all the bad peoples and there’s no more left for me!”_

_Thorin holds back a laugh, before sighing and smiling again. “I’m afraid that’s not the case, my little mountain flower. For as long the world exists, there will always be evil that needs to be fought.”_

_Amara brightens at that statement, tears evaporating in a second. Mahal above, but she does look like a Baggins. Not an ounce of dwarf in her appearance thus far. “Then I can fight the bad peoples when I grow up! Right, Papa?”_

_Thorin kisses the top of her head, smiling at the innocence of it all. “We’ll talk about it when you’re older. Go, get some sleep.”_

* * *

A snapping sound slices through the air. Before the buck can turn his head, a wide arrow is through it and he is on the ground.

“Good shot, cousin!” Fili bursts out of the bush to slash the animal’s neck. “Keep practicing and you’ll put Kili out of a job!”

“You’ll be the one putting up with me if she does!” Kili shoves his brother playfully, before retrieving a set of skinning tools from his jacket pocket.

“No need to worry, Kili,” Amara rides up, setting her bow on her back once more. “I have no interest in taking anything. Except that skin if you don’t need it.”

“You can have the whole thing,” Fili says, head bent as he helps his brother. “You shot it, we can catch our own.”

“No, just the hide will do. You two can take the meat home to your mother for dinner. We’d best not take anymore, it’s a lean season.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Kili cuts the last of the skin free and rolls it up on his way to stuff it into Amara’s saddlebag. “The fishing should be getting good just now, should we go catch ourselves a side-dish?”

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Amara says, adjusting the bundle the way she wants it. “I have some business I have to tend to at home.”

“Trying to convince Thorin to let you take up training again, eh?” Fili grins at her, in a way that would be worthy of a punch if he weren’t her senior by many years and much experience. Amara mounts her pony and bites her tongue.

Kili mirrors his brother’s expression for a moment, then frowns slightly. “I think it might be a lost cause. You’ve been trying for how long now, fourteen years?”

“It’s not a won or lost cause, it’s a matter of if I’m ready or not. Father will know when the time is right.” Amara presses her right heel near the pony’s thigh, signalling it to kick up its back feet. Fili and Kili trip over themselves avoiding the hooves and are left choking on dust while Amara rides off. “Good evening, cousins!”

* * *

A quick change from hunting clothes to gown and some water splashed on her face makes Amara look mostly presentable. Though even with the leaves removed, her usually tightly-wound braids are in complete disarray. Redoing them will have to wait. She smoothes them down as she walks down the hall and into the family’s common rooms. She hesitates for a moment before knocking on the door to the study.

“Come in.” Amara opens the door to see her father’s broad back hunched over the desk in the corner. Like a small outpost in a vast forest of Bella’s books, papers, and miscellania. He’s still in the dark blue regalia he wore to court this morning, it must have been a busy day. Yet he manages a wide smile upon seeing her. “Ah, back so soon? Pull up a chair.”

Amara drags a hobbit-sized rocking chair from the corner to her father’s side. “I shot a buck myself, at about fifty paces!”

“With just one arrow?” Amara nods eagerly. “Well done! You’ll be a master at it in no time. What did you do with it?”

“Took the skin to the tanner’s, gave Fili and Kili the rest.” Amara swallows hard, sitting up as straight as she can. “Father, I was just wondering. Have you, by chance, given any more thought to letting me start training?”

Thorin turns back to his papers, picking up his quill and scratching out something. “I’m afraid your brother is all that is filling my thoughts as of late. And even if he wasn’t, you’re still not quite old enough.”

Amara might usually be tempted to protest that she is twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight-years-old, instead she just nodded in silence. Ashamed of forgetting Thrain, who was likely sleeping off his still-present pains at the end of the hall, after a year of purposefully not asking.

“Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you something,” Thorin’s voice cuts into Amara’s thoughts, making her jerk in surprise. “Now that he can walk and all the rest, I was wondering if you might help him recover his ability to fight.”

Amara cocks her head to one side. “How might I do that, Papa?”

“With his eye gone, he’s lost most of his, what’s the word?” Thorin waves his hand quickly back and forth. “Perception of depth? He’s regained some of it, thanks to Dis’ suggestion. Playing catch, of all things.”

Amara nods, remembering young Dis suddenly pulling one of her strange healer’s texts off the shelf and showing how such a thing can be re-taught.

“I was thinking you could spar with him for a while. See if you can teach him to land a hit with fist or sword again, at least. Dwalin and I will take it from there.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but I must ask, why wouldn’t you two take it from the beginning? I only spar with him and Thror for fun, really.” That’s not quite true. Thrain was the type that if he could teach a skill to someone else, he could retain it himself. Their near-daily brawls were as much learning experiences as they were taking her older brother down a peg.

Thorin doesn’t speak for a long, stifling moment. “He’s a bit...embarrassed of himself right now. Staggering about in front of myself or Dwalin would only aggravate him, slow the whole process down. It would be like that even with Thror, but not with you. Do you understand?”

“I do. I’d be happy to help him.” The corner of Thorin’s mouth lifts into a smile, and Amara smiles weakly back. “Are you sure that, you know, his wounds won’t open again?”

Thorin shakes his head, teeth showing as he gnaws his lip. “The most you’ll have to worry about is muscle strain, and that’s to be expected. Do as you see fit, but don’t push him unnecessarily.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Amara leans in to kiss her father’s cheek, his beard tickling her nose. “Maybe after this, you’ll let me start training?”

Thorin looks at her, and for a moment Amara thinks he’ll finally lose his patience. Instead, he lets out a hearty laugh and reaches over to muss her braids even more. “You are relentless, aren’t you? You keep sounding like me when I was your age.”

“But I look more like Mama when she was young.” Amara says, more to head off a “Back when I was a lad...” ramble than anything else. She loves her father, but one could only hear the same five stories so many times.

“Aye, that you do.” Thorin lets his hand come to rest against her cheek, smile turning wistful. It was true, besides the distinctly dwarf dark curls and height that surpassed even her brothers, Amara was an exact replica of her mother. That this meant she met no standards of typical dwarf beauty was of no consequence to either of them.

“What are you working on?” Amara asks, peering over her father’s shoulder as soon as he drops his hand.

“Treasury reports. Would you like to help, or are you still having trouble with sums?”

“I do fine with adding and taking away, it’s timesing and dividing that trip me up.” Amara pulls her chair in close, taking and dipping a quill for herself. The two work silently, shoulder to shoulder, until Bella calls them for dinner.

* * *

“Come on, Thrain! All you have to do is hit it!” Amara waves the wooden sword in her brother’s direction. “I know you can do it!”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past hour, and I haven’t hit it yet.” Thrain growls back. The scars on his face and exposed arms seem to glow red and fresh, even in the dim light of the unused, recently cleaned winter sparring room. Oin said they would fade with time, but he never specified how long.

“Talking about it isn’t going to help.” Amara holds the sword still and sideways, almost offering it to him. “C’mon, do it again!”

Thrain’s jaw tenses. He takes his stance, still not quite as steady as it was before the Orc raid. He grips his sword tightly, pulls back, and swings at Amara’s own with all his might. Missing it by a few inches and nearly hitting the ground before he stops himself.

Amara slashes at his arm with her wooden blade. Barely a graze, meant to aggravate and encourage. “You were closer this time! Keep trying!”

Thrain’s grip turns white-knuckled, his voice tightens to match. “I don’t want to keep trying!”

“Too bad!” Amara pokes at his chest, in a spot where she knows the scars don’t reach. “Come at me again!”

Motivated by the irresistibly annoying taunts of a younger sister, Thrain swings again and again. He moves incrementally closer each time, but can’t quite seem to hit it. More jabs, more taunts, and no results. It’s as if his mind is searching for his other eye, not realizing it’s never going to find it again.

He misses for what feels like the thousandth time. Amara pokes at him for the thousand and fiftieth and he throws his sword on the ground, stalking away from her. “That’s it! This isn’t going to work! We’re just beating a dead horse!”

“Thrain!” Oh, here it comes. You musn’t get discouraged, “even though it’s frustrating!” Think about Mother, Father, and all the rest, “and what they went through to take back Erebor!” If they can make it through that, “then surely you can make it through this! Now come back here and try again!”

“Are you deaf? I said this isn’t going to work!”

“Big brother, get back here! Right now!” Thrain grits his teeth. Hearing Amara’s disconcertingly deep voice go all whiney is irritating to no end. “How are you supposed to-”

“Rule Erebor if I can’t fight? I don’t know, alright? I. Don’t. Know.” Thrain rubs his forehead, refusing to turn around and face his sister, though he hears her footsteps approach. “Here’s an idea! How about we just accept the fact that I’m a cripple and I need to abdicate? When did that cease being an option?”

Amara gasps behind him. Thrain nearly puts his teeth through his tongue. “Thrain, you wouldn’t! You shouldn’t say such a thing! No one wants you to do that!” Thin, strong hands pull at his shoulder until he turns around. “Injuries do not make for a bad king! You are not the first in the line of Durin to suffer at the hands of an enemy!”

“That may be so, but I’m quite sure I’m the first one whose father thinks he’s unfit to rule in the first place!”

Amara scowls, but is unable to stop one eyebrow from arching. “What are you talking about? When did Father ever say that you’re unfit to rule?”

“He doesn’t have to say it!” Thrain practically spits in her face. “You’re not out there with us! Go and ask Thror how he talks to me! How he glares at me! Look at where we are right now! He sent me to be re-trained by my little sister in a fucking _closet!_ ”

Amara bristles, dropping her training sword to the ground. “He told me himself that he and Dwalin will take over once you can damn well hit a target! He just doesn’t want you to embarrass yourself!”

“If _Thorin_ finds me embarrassing then he can just stick his little _mountain flower_ on the throne and be done with it!”

Thrain doesn’t even see the flash in Amara’s eyes before he’s grabbed and flung to the floor by his hair. He lands hard and loses his wind for a moment. That’s it, that’s too far. The second he gets a proper breath in, he uses it to haul himself up and punch Amara square in the face, all in one fluid movement.

Amara hadn’t been expecting that. She goes flying back onto her rear. Face blank with surprise, she lifts her hand to her nose and draws away just as quickly, blood smeared across both.

All the anger leaves Thrain’s body in an instant. He practically falls down beside her, grabbing at her shoulder and face. “Oh no. Amara, oh Mahal, I didn’t mean to make you,- I am so sorry! I was just angry and I reacted and _fuck_ , are you alright? Is it broken?”

“No.” Amara swipes at her noses again, wincing minutely. “Did you intend to hit my nose?”

“I am so, so sorry, really I am. I feel terrible. I’ll get Mama and,-”

“Answer the question! Were you aiming for my nose or not?”

“Yes, I was! What of it?”

Amara wraps her arms so tightly and suddenly around Thrain’s neck that he chokes for air. He can feel her breathless laughter against the edge of his beard. “You did it! You did it! Well done,Thrain!”

“What’s the matter with you?” Thrain fruitlessly tries to push her still-bloody face away from his neck. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“No, you idiot! Don’t you get it? You hit my nose on purpose!” Amara grabs his tunic front with both hands, shaking him when he stares blankly at her. “You hit your target! I told you that you could do it!”

“Oh, right, I suppose I did.” Thrain rubs the back of his neck, feeling pride rise very gingerly in his chest. “It’s a hollow victory, ‘cause Mama’s going to kill me when she finds out I made you bleed.”

Amara snatches Thrain’s handkerchief from where it’s dangling out of his breeches pocket, and mops her face with it. Thrain frowns when she hands it back. “If you get your sorry ass up and keep practicing, I promise I won’t tell.”

“You’ll make a fine diplomat some day,” Thrain sighs as he levers himself back up. “You just enjoy beating me up.”

“That, and someone has to look after you.” Amara is already on her feet, picking up her sword and jabbing him once again. “Du bekar, brother!”

* * *

In two years time, with plenty of questionable encouragement from his little sister, Thrain is in tip-top form once again. His mood isn’t quite as improved, and he retains his reclusive tendencies. But the entire family is in better spirits for knowing that the next in line has fully recovered and things can proceed as usual.

Amarantha, while very glad to see Thrain return to normal duties, gradually starts feeling a bit forgotten. She had been certain her father would let her begin training once she finished with Thrain, but no such luck. It’s come to the point where she asks him at least once a day, hoping that if nothing else, he’ll make his decision out of sheer aggravation. But day after day, he keeps saying “When you’re a bit older, when you’re a bit older...”

“And when is that?” Amara stabs at a bush with her wooden sword, one she’d kept from her time helping Thrain. “When I come of age? I’ll be so far behind everyone else that I might as well not bother!”

“Have you tried asking him what he means?” Frodo queries, perched on a rock a safe distance away. Amara had been making sure to spend extra time with him at the end of each day in hopes of making up for their awkward introduction. They both seemed to enjoy Bella’s extensive garden that occupies a balcony just outside the main sitting room, albeit each for different reasons.

“I have, in every possible way I can think of!” Amara slashes at the bush, managing to snap a few branches. “He manages to dodge the question every single time! I worry that he’s hiding something from me, though I can’t imagine what!”

“I hope he isn’t,” Frodo frowns, scratching at the dirt with his toe. “Maybe if you, I don’t know, sat down together and asked him honestly? He seems to appreciate the direct approach.”

“Aye, that might do it.” Amara stills, looking at the sky. After a moment, her lips curl into a smile and she pokes Frodo’s knee with her sword. “Look at you, barely here a month and already giving me advice! It’s true what they say, hobbits have something to say about everything!”

Frodo grins up at her, bright eyes crinkling. “And who says that?”

“Father, Mister Dwalin, and anyone else who had to travel to the Lonely Mountain with your Auntie.” That earns Amara a playful shove, which she happily returns. Frodo engages her in a game of friendly chase. The pair weave through the bushes and rows until the sun at last drops out of sight and the evening air becomes too chilled.

In bed that night, Amara feels wide awake for no apparent reason. Deciding that tomorrow would be as good a day as any to talk with her father, she picks up a quill and some scrap paper. Maybe if she writes her thoughts out, she’ll be able to speak them more clearly. Then Father will understand, surely he will.

But she drops her quill as soon as she picks it up, for there is a sudden commotion in the hall. Stomping boots, barking words, the faint clatter of metal. She throws on her dressing gown and runs to her door just in time to catch her father rushing past. “Papa? What’s going on?”

Thorin halts and turns mid-step, armour glinting in the light from her room. “Orc pack. Took out a scouting party not far from here. Dwalin, Thrain, and I are going to head them off.”

Amara feels as if her insides are seized by a large, clawed hand. Something cold and dark bubbles up inside her, seeping into her mind and throat. “Papa, no! Wait for the guards to assemble, I beg of you!”

“We cannot wait! They’ll be heading for Dale or us now!” Thorin pauses just long enough to pull Amara in by her shoulder and kiss her forehead. “Go to bed. I will be back before sunrise.” And with that, he’s down the hall and out of hearing range.

Amara shuts her door so that she might slide down and sit against it. The feeling is inexplicable, but incredibly strong. She knows harm will come to them if they go alone. The same way she knows the sky is blue or that two and two make four. It’s so clear that it doesn’t even need a reason. She knows this, but what can she do?

Her training sword leans on the wall beside her, and a midnight snack apple on her desk almost as close. She stands and snatches up both in anger. She tosses the apple carelessly in the air and slashes it with the sword. Not only does she hit it, she manages to crack a weak spot and split it in half. Though pulverized and jagged, the tiny fruit lays in distinct halves on the floor. As she stares at it, her mother’s distinct bare footsteps pass her doorway and pat down the stairs. Gone to help organize the guards, no doubt. Queen Bella is far from useless.

At that, an idea enters Amara’s mind. Before it can even take off its boots, she’s already running.

Thank Mahal her mother never bothers to lock anything. The mithril shirt is a snug fit, but it will have to do. Her hunting breeches are in some basket waiting to be mended, she can’t waste time looking for them. Amara slips on a pair of her father’s trousers and cinches the belt tight. A leather bracelet sitting helpfully on the bedstand ties her hair back quite nicely. But what to do for a weapon?

The armoury would be overrun with guardsmen or locked up after them. Father had taken every weapon that he kept in the apartment. What to do, what to do? She can’t go after them unarmed! Amara stomps into the living room, teeth grinding with impotent rage. She stubs her toe on the fireplace edge and curses as quietly as she can. As she tilts her head back in pain, her eye lands on it. Sting, her mother’s sword, set above the mantel for so long it had become part of the scenery to her.

As she reaches for the blade, a small voice pipes up from behind her. “Amara, what are you doing?”

Amara freezes, turning only her head. It’s Frodo, sitting on the big windowsill in his pajamas, a half-eaten muffin in his hand. “I...I can’t explain now, Frodo. I have to go.”

“You’re not going after them, are you?” Frodo crosses the room as she attaches the sword to her side. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

“And if I don’t go, they will be killed. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.” Amara grabs Frodo’s shoulders when he makes for the door. “Listen to me! Remember how Mother talks about her sudden need to join Father’s company? I’m sure I’m feeling that same thing right now, and you _must_ let me go. Please, Frodo, don’t breathe a word until I get back!”

Frodo’s eyes go wide as he regards Amara’s rather terrifying, crazed expression. He swallows hard, hint of a throat bump bobbing before he speaks. “If you really must, then I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Amara breathes, squeezing Frodo’s shoulders once more before rushing to the stables.

The three men had gone quickly, leaving plenty of tracks and making it easy for Amara to keep on their and trail while staying far enough behind . If she arrives and finds them fighting well, she will stay hidden. No matter how hard that will be. As Amara gets closer, she hears noise. She cannot discern what is going on, it is just a cacophony of metal clinking, feet thumping, and wordless yelling. It doesn’t prepare her for what she sees when she reaches the edge of the clearing.

Bloodied bodies litter the ground. The remains of the scouting party, no doubt, and several Orc carcasses. At least a dozen if not more Orcs are still skulking about, shouting in their guttural language and looking pleased with themselves. Worst of all, several Orcs surround her battered father, brother, and de facto uncle, writhing in a net trap like animals, as another stokes up a fire.

As battle cries go, “Hey!” is probably not one of the best, but it’ll do for now.

The largest Orc, possibly the leader, bellows something at the others. A few remain in place around her relatives while the others charge at her, weapons drawn. Amara does not hesitate to meet them halfway. Many a time, she has bemoaned her Hobbit heritage for the small build and lack of beard it gifted her with. But not now. Now she’s grateful for the agility it gives her as she rolls under an Orc’s sword and spins to slash its arm, followed shortly by its neck.

All her play-fights with Thrain are at the forefront of her mind. How he taught her to watch her back, to dodge and parry, to keep an opponent from catching hold of her arm. Her family’s combined screams at her sound too rapid to be understood, but her actions seem to drag out. She slashes one Orc’s neck open, stabs another through the chest. The tendons from her wrist to her chest cry out but she pays them no heed. The point of an Orc scimitar lands hard against her side, but true to the armour’s legend, doesn’t pierce through in the slightest. She twists and fells that one before it can figure that out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amara sees the Orc behind her father draw its blade with one hand and grab him with the other. No. She slashes the ones in front of her, wounding without bothering to kill. No no no. As fast as her legs can carry her, she’s across the clearing. Using Dwalin’s shoulder as a springboard (she’ll apologize later), she leaps up and slashes the Orc’s head clean off. The other two are on the ground in as many seconds. Before she can turn to finish off the rest, the guardsmen finally arrive and do it for her.

Amara practically gets shoved aside in the clamour of the pack being finished off. A few guards run over to her family to help them out of the net, and inquire of their injuries. Only when all the Orcs lay dead and the guards stand panting does her father turn his attention back to her. When their eyes meet, Amara’s insides turn to liquid.

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” Thorin grabs her by the belt, hoisting her clear off her feet with only one hand. “What would _possess_ you to follow us? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I-I’m sorry! I just, I had a bad feeling that,-”

“You threw yourself into danger over a _bad feeling_?” Thorin shakes her, his bellowing voice overwhelming the now-silent clearing. Amara shuts her eyes and braces herself. Thrain and Thror get their respective share of smacks, she’s certain hers will befit the situation.

But the blow never comes, Thorin merely holds her a second longer before dropping her unceremoniously. She opens her eyes to her father picking up Sting from where she dropped it and thrusting it into her hands. “You will take what you stole back to its rightful owner and wait for me in your room.”

Amara’s voice is a raspy squeak. “Father,-”

“Go! Now! Before you make an even bigger fool of yourself!” Thorin’s voice is a blast of fire to Amara’s ears. She grips Sting and shuffles towards a waiting guard and pony. She does not raise her eyes once until she’s sitting at her desk, watching the rising sun yellow her wall.

Thorin does not come to her by breakfast, nor by lunch. Amara sits in humid silence the entire time, only getting up once to go to the toilet. A few times, she hears servants passing in the halls, talking in worried voices about these “new” Orcs that prefer torture over immediate killing. At one o’clock, a knock at her door nearly scares Amara out of her skin.

But it is only Frodo, with a plate of food and a forced smile. He closes the door behind him and holds it out to her. “Aunt Bella thought you might want something to eat.”

Amara takes the plate wordlessly and stares at it. She’s never felt less like eating in her life.

A small hand touches her shoulder with impossible gentleness. “Amara...Are you alright?”

“Depends on your definition of the word.”

“You’re covered in blood stains and marks, have you been looked at?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Mother tended to them while she was giving me an earful.” Amara slumps forward, face resting on her folded arms. “Father’ll have me shut up in a tower for this.”

Frodo turns and leans back against the desk, hand never leaving Amara’s shoulder. “Thrain told me that he’ll express his gratitude to you in person at the first opportunity.”

Amara lifts her head. “He’s not angry with me?” Frodo shakes his own. “And what of Father, then?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“He’s probably attending to the scouts’ families, rest them.” Amara drops her head once more. “I should be grateful not to be among them. But I keep thinking; If only I’d been allowed to start training long ago. If they’d just waited for the guards in the first place. If just one little thing had been different, I would never have had to see Father look at me like that.”

“Do you regret it?”

Amar turns, looks at Frodo’s round face wearing its usual curious expression. “What?”

“Saving their lives, do you regret that?”

Amara jerks away from the hobbit’s hand. “Of course I don’t regret that! Honestly!”

Frodo unconsciously backs up a few steps, shrugging his shoulders as he goes. “Then you did the right thing, and that’s what matters most. Right? Imagine if you hadn’t gone after them.”

Amara opens her mouth, finding nothing left to say. She regards the young hobbit so intently, Frodo is compelled to duck his head and scratch at his curls. Amara smiles, just slightly, and stands up to embrace him. “You really are a kind little thing. Hold onto that, it’ll serve you well.”

Frodo pats Amara’s side, trying not to lean into the hug too much. Her clothes don’t smell all that welcoming. “Ah, thank you, I suppose.”

“I won’t ask you for any more favours, after last night,-” Amara hears familiar boots on the stairs and releases Frodo. “That’ll be Father. Go on now, hurry!”

Frodo does as he’s told. Amara takes her seat once more, bows her head, and tries very hard not to keep her face from twisting. The heavy knock is heard. It takes all she has to make the “Come in” sound steady.

The door opens and she turns to face Thorin, but does not raise her eyes. She fixes them on her hands folded in her lap and waits. After a moment, he sighs. His voice is firm and tired, not flaming with anger like it was several hours ago. “Tell me why you followed us.”

“I’m unsure if I can adequately explain it. I had this exceptionally clear feeling all of the sudden. It practically consumed me. I knew if I didn’t go, you three would,- you would surely die.”

“So you went, even though you have no experience on a battlefield? That you might very well be tortured or killed before you could even hope to save us?”

Amara’s tongue feels like lead in her mouth. “Yes.”

“You saved our lives,” Thorin’s rough hand threads its way through her disheveled hair. “I don’t know how you did it. I can only thank you, not scold you.” Amara raises her head wordlessly, finding her father not quite smiling, though not frowning either. “My earlier reaction may have been slightly severe, but consider how you might feel if you had to helplessly watch your untrained child charge an Orc pack with a letter opener.”

Amara’s gut twists from all the conflicting emotions. She risks a smile and nods understandingly.

Thorin nearly smiles back. “I will have to consign you to the palace for one month. No hunting, market trips, or anything else. You stole your mother’s things and nearly got yourself injured or killed. Do you understand?”

Amara nods firmly. “Yes, Father.”

“And there will be no more chasing after us, correct?”

“I,-” Amara’s stomach nearly ties itself into a knot. “I cannot promise you that, Father.”

Thorin’s hand retracts to his side. “Pardon me?”

“Please, you must understand.” Amara stands up to look Thorin in the eyes. “All my life, I’ve wanted to learn to fight. And all my life you’ve been saying wait just a little longer, just a little longer, and just a little longer never comes! If you never intended to let me learn, you should have said so from the start!”

Thorin advances on Amara, chasing her to the middle of the room. “And your reckless behaviour is meant to convince me? You be allowed when I say so and not before!”

Amara steels herself under Thorin’s looming presence, speaking as steadily as she can manage. “Father, I am not like Mother, or Aunt Dis, or my sisters. I am simply not capable of sitting at home and doing needlework while you fight drenched in blood!”

Thorin’s lip curls, revealing clenched teeth. “And why might that be?”

“Because I know I’m meant for something different! You saw what I did to those Orcs! I came away with barely a scratch, and that’s just from practicing on my own and sparring with Thrain! Imagine what I could do if I was actually taught, if I was given proper weapons!”

“Enough!” Thorin roars, close enough to Amara’s face that she feels the heat of his breath. “You may have been lucky this time, but did you not see the bodies at your feet? Are you really prepared to have your skin burned, your limbs rent, your throat slit just because of a _whim_?”

“It’s not a whim!” Amara refuses to release control of her voice, though she quivers inside. “I saw the scouts, I saw what happened to Thrain, I’ve seen it all without being able to do a _thing_ about it! Didn’t you yourself once say that you could ask for no more than loyalty, honour, and a willing heart? I swear right now that I could give you all of that and more! Give me the chance and I’ll make all of Erebor proud to call me their princess!”

Thorin stares at his daughter for several heartbeats, expression finally softening just a touch. “Thrain is right. You are quite good at impromptu speeches.”

Amara holds her stare, jutting her chin at her father. “I learned from the best.”

Thorin sighs again, heavily this time, and looks Amara in the eye. “You are completely certain of this?”

“Indeed. To deny me of this would be to deny my life of purpose.”

“...Very well.” Thorin claps a heavy hand on Amara’s shoulder. “When your punishment has ended, your training will begin. Not with your brothers, you are too far behind. You can join them when you catch up. But let me make one thing very clear; I will not hesitate to return you to your needlework should you slack or otherwise be found wanting. Is that understood?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Amara holds her father’s gaze for another moment, making sure she’s been heard before throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Father. Thank you! I promise I will not disappoint you, I promise!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Thorin whispers. He hugs Amara back, almost too tightly, for a long and silent moment. Upon releasing her, he turns swiftly and strides towards the door without another word.

“Father?”

Thorin stops on the threshold and turns his head enough to acknowledge her, his hair obscuring his face. “Yes, my dear?”

“Why do you shed tears over me, and not Thrain or Thror? Am I so different because I’m a girl?”

Thorin’s fists tighten noticeably. “Yes, yes you are.”

Amara winds herself up. “But Father, when Mother-!”

Thorin stops her with a raised hand. He faces her properly, eyes glinting and rid of their earlier frustration. “Thrain and Thror were born for the battlefield, it is the way of things. You have a choice to remain safe at home, and you choose to take up the sword anyways. Though I cannot deny that it is a noble decision and makes me proud, it is difficult to watch another one of my children spend their life in harm’s way.”

A lump lurches into Amara’s throat. “Papa, I’m-”

“No more talk. Wash up, eat, get some rest. And do put those trousers in the wash hamper.” Thorin’s smile is like a knife through her heart before he closes the door behind him.

It feels foolish for mere words to move her to tears in the same day she and her family had been in mortal peril, but Amara cannot control herself. This day is too much to handle. She cleans up and eats through her sobs, but she does not go to sleep until she has written out “I will not fail” one thousand times.

* * *

After ten years with few pauses in her practice, Amara throws open the door to Thrain’s bedroom. “Hey, big brother! Guess how my first mission went?”

Thrain catches the jar of ink just before it spills over his papers. “Would you please learn how to knock?”

“It went so well!” Amara runs up, throwing one arm around his shoulders. “Got in, got the stolen relics back, got out! Mind you, if Nori hadn’t taught me to pick locks, Father’d be bailing me out right now.”

“Oh, really?”

“Aye, what a rush though! Kind of a menial job, but that’s how it is being a newbie. And I’ll take survivable over interesting any day. Can’t hope be the king’s squire if I’m dead, right? But guess what?”

“What?”

“I found this horse- a real horse, not a pony, -wandering around all scruffy-looking. Obviously let loose and abandoned for some time, Men can be so heartless. Long story short, he was the only ride available to me at the time. I managed to get him to behave long enough to get out of there, and tamed him the rest of the way home.”

“Interesting.”

“It took some convincing, but Father’s going to let me keep him! Isn’t that marvellous? I get to ride a real stallion!”

“Father’s little mountain-flower asked for something and got it? Knock me over with a feather!” Thrain braces himself just in time for Amara’s fist smacking into the back of his skull.

“Alright, what’s the problem today? Did you have a fight with Father again?”

Thrain hums affirmatively. Hoping that if he acts disinterested enough, she’ll get bored and leave him to his work.

“Was it about your recent taking up with Ori’s daughter?”

Thrain spins in his seat and glares up at his sister. “How do you know about that? Did Father tell you?”

“No, I’ve known for a while. Ask Thror anything while he’s sketching and he’ll answer with complete honesty.” Amara smirks at her brother, propping one hand on the chair-back and the other on her hip. “I also know that you’ve actually been with her for two years before she came of age this past winter, so choose your words carefully.”

“Oh, please! I didn’t so much as kiss her on the mouth until her last birthday,” Thrain huffs, returning to his parchment. “Anyways, you were saying about your horse?”

“Forget that!” Amara tips herself at a strange angle, until Thrain has no choice but to look at her. “What did you and Father fight about, exactly?”

Thrain bites the inside of his cheek hard. “He thinks that Neva is ‘sick’ and therefore is unsuitable as a potential wife for me.”

“Well, she is sick, isn’t she?” Thrain had only brought the girl to visit once. Their mother had sent him to Ori’s to deliver something, and he’d returned with a dinner guest. Neva had skin and hair as pale white as mountain snow. So much that her veins showed clearly and she had to cover herself in the sun. Her eyes were a striking faint blue, caused her pain if she got too close to any source of light. Not to mention she couldn’t even read without a magnifier. And besides all that, she was lacking in beard and frankly, rather scrawny. Amara could see why Father objected.

“No!” Thrain snaps, shoving Amara out of his personal space. “She was just born the way she is! Ori himself said he’s read about people like her who’ve led perfectly normal, healthy lives. Father has no right to reject us! Holly has the eyesight of a mole, and I bet you he’ll let her marry whoever she wants!”

“Holly’s not the heir to the throne!”

“And the line of Durin is supposed to be pure dwarf.” Thrain’s eyebrow twitches over his eyepatch. “But are we or are we not half-hobbit?”

“...Good point.” Amara comes back to lean oddly on the side of the desk, thinking for a moment. “If Father objects strongly enough that he’d outright refuse you, why not go find a girl he does approve?”

Thrain blinks deliberately, mouth hanging open just a little. “What did you say?”

“Go out there and get yourself another lass. You’re the heir to the throne, for goodness’ sake! You won’t have much trouble!”

Thrain’s voice and his grip on the edge of the desk tighten. “It is not as simple as that!”

“Why isn’t it?” Amara tilts her head at him, genuinely confused.

Thrain gets ready to shout, but stops himself. He studies her eyes for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “You really don’t get it, do you? It’s- You can’t just decide to stop being in love with someone because it’s inconvenient.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” Thrain rubs his temple, well and truly exasperated. “You are so cold sometimes. I find myself wondering if you have a heart at all.”

“I do so have one! I’ve just devoted it to my family, you included. What’s so special about Neva that you would devote yours to her?”

Thrain’s scarred face brightens considerably. “If you knew her like I do, you’d see. She’s absolutely wonderful! She’s brilliant, and kind, and funny. She cares for me as much as I care for her, though that feels almost impossible. And no matter what anyone else says, she’s absolutely beautiful. Neva’s as close to perfect as anyone could possibly be.”

A slight blush burns Amara’s cheeks. This turn in the conversation and the downright dopey look on her brother’s face make her feel embarrassed. “Thrain! Honestly! You are such a woman!”

Thrain’s smile slips and Amara waits for him to lunge and attempt to punish that taunt properly. Instead he laughs, and laughs. Too hard, really. “Are you feeling alright, brother?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I’m fine.” Thrain’s voice hiccups as he restrains himself. “It’s just funny you say that, is all.”

“Moving on,” Amara tuts, feeling thoroughly alienated at this point. “Bring her to supper more often, show off her good traits. I’m afraid I can’t offer any other advice for convincing Father.”

“I wasn’t asking for your advice, little sister.” Thrain levels an irritated look at Amara with his remaining eye. It only lasts for a moment, smile returning at a change of subject. “Now, why don’t you pull up a chair and tell me all about your first mission? Don’t skimp on the details.”

Amara drags a dusty chair out of the corner. “You really want to hear about it?”

“Now that I’m in a better mood,” Thrain gives her a little smile. “I’m sorry I have to write while I listen, but these hymn books must be returned by tonight.”

“Copying music again, huh?” Amara pulls her chair up to her brother’s side, peering over his shoulder. “I hope there’s some battle songs in there, because you’ll want to sing about this one part!”

The two chat happily, shoulder to shoulder, until Bella calls them for dinner.

**_ FIN _ **


	6. Heart-Shaped Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little bit about the life of Ori and his beloved human wife Aurora, as they fall and love. We also learn about their first and only child, Neva. 
> 
> Hardcore feels will happen. This is your warning.

The study in the house of the Brothers Ri was noisy with the scratching of pen on parchment, getting louder the more Ori concentrated. He looked out the window, gently clicking his pen on the table, trying to get inspiration from the swirling snow just outside. It was only a few short weeks until his daughter’s birthday, making Ori to worry about a gift for the child. He thought of giving the girl another scarf, but he had been giving her those for years. Ori wanted to give something a little more thoughtful. Something that would mean something to her until the day she grew old. It was far too soon for him to get something as significant as a courting dress, but he was so tired of getting her something that she would soon outgrow. 

An idea presents itself to Ori as he watches the snow. Really, he owes it to Bella, her writing a book about her adventures. She hadn’t finished the book yet, thanks to a rapidly growing family, but she hadn’t given up on it either. The only problem, was that all of the journals in his study were either used up, or for documenting important things for others. But then, just as fast as his idea, one stray book showed itself, stashed amongst his personal journals. This book, he came to realize, was the journal he and his wife were going to write in about raising Neva. He started to tear up, noticing he had never written in the book at all. Every time he would grab for the book, he would get a pain in his heart and go on with what he was doing before. Now, Ori wasn’t usually the kind to ignore such feelings, but for some reason, this book always tugged at his heart in the most painful way. The slightest sounds seemed oddly loud as he got out of his chair, grabbing the slightly dusty book off of his shelf. 

Ori opened up the book, noticing it still smelled like the lilies she had planted outside. It also smelled like old book, though it wasn’t quite that old at all. All in all, it smelled just like his wife. His beautiful, beautiful Aurora. She really had been the perfect wife for a scribe like Ori; knowing how to read, write, and could also create beautiful poems. He used to sit there in awe when she’d write a beautiful sonnet for him, reading it with such intensity and raw emotion that he would blush for an hour after he’d heard it the first time. He had also written numerous poems for her, but never felt they were as good as his Aurora’s had been. Her chestnut brown hair always made Ori swoon, her green eyes bright and full of love. He had stayed up at night, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as they laid together, talking about unborn children and the pitter-patter their sweet feet would make on their floors.

Unfortunately, his wife would never see the child they created, or hear the pitter patters her sweet feet made. It was afternoons like this, he could still smell her perfume, or hear her hearty laugh at something he’d done. He didn’t notice, until a soft tap was heard on the fragile paper, that he had been crying. He quickly wiped the tears away, dipping his pen in the ink beside him. He wrote a small, innocent title at the top of the second page; “The Heart-Shaped Box.”

_This story, as I will tell it to you, is about a simple scribe and his beloved, a baker’s assistant. The young scribe had just been sent by Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, to get his beloved wife Bella a certain pastry from Dale’s best baker, Ovo._

_“Oh, my dear scribe!” said the King, deep voice full of concern. “My dear wife requires honey cake. Our beloved Queen is bearing a child and only wants this to eat. Please, my scribe, get this for me and you will be greatly rewarded!”_

_With a small bow of his head, the King handed over the money to purchase the pastries for the Queen, and the scribe left to go on his quest. He walked out from Erebor, down the sloping road, all the way to Dale’s only open bakery, owned by the human baker, Ovo. His store was filled with beautiful pastries and other delights. The smell of bread and cake filled the air, making the scribe sniff with a wistful sigh. He went to the counter, getting the attention of the baker._

_“Well, well, well!” Ovo said, with a laugh low in his large belly. The man was quite tall, red hair making him stand out. The Man was much taller than the small scribe, making him seem like a giant. “What is it I could do for you, dear sir?”_

_The small scribe looked up at the man, smiling as he brought out the pouch the King had given him. “You see, I have been ordered by the King of Erebor to seek out honey cake for his dear Queen!”_

_The man gave the scribe another hearty laugh, right from his belly, and called out for honey cake. Little did the scribe know, he was about to discover the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her name, he would learn later on, was Aurora. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, but soft as a rose petal. Her eyes were as lively as the soil under his shoes. Her skin a light shade of cinnamon. The scribe watched in awe as the taller woman came out, raven hair braided simply, holding a heart-shaped box filled with honey cake. As she placed the box down, the scribe grabbed for it. For the first time, their hands touched, the happiest of emotions going through the scribe. He paid his three silver pennies, placing them in the hands of the beautiful creature in front of him._

_Though he did not hear her undoubtedly beautiful voice, the scribe knew that if he could just get to know her, he’d want her to be his chosen. He silently prayed to the Valar that he would one day see her again. While inspecting the box, he noticed a small fold in the box wrapping. To the scribe’s shock, he noticed that there was a small slip of paper on the inside of the box. He slipped the paper out, placing it in his pocket for later reading. He gave the cake to the King, who rewarded him with 10 gold pennies and a splendid journal with gold detailing and a dark red leather cover._

_“I would like to thank you on behalf of Erebor for fulfilling her wishes. Please take these gifts as a token of our gratitude!”_

_He could see Queen Bella off to the side Quite large by now, but looking as beautiful as she always had. She walked a few steps forward, but he finished the distance between them. He knelt on one knee, kissing Queen Bella’s hand and making her giggle at the silly scribe._

_It was only hours later, as the scribe sat at home by the fire that he remembered the small slip of paper in his pocket. The man shoved his hand into his pocket, frantically searching for it. When he gripped the small paper, he felt comfortable again and read with interest._

_“My dear scribe, I watched you from the back, and knew that we had to see each other again! Please, if you feel the same way, I would love if you came back to the bakery with a small lavender branch. If you do not feel the same, do not bother to come. I do hope with all of my heart that you will show up! I hope to see you again tomorrow! Signed, Aurora.”_

_The scribe sat in shock. The beautiful woman from before seemed to feel the same as him! He ran up to his room, placing the small piece of paper under his pillow, to ward off any bad dream that might seek to scare him. He grabbed it up again, placing it on his lips and giving the paper a tender kiss. The scribe placed the paper in its spot under the pillow, praying that the next day would come in just a few short moments._

_With the next day’s arrival, the scribe got up bright and early. He made sure that his teeth were white, his hair was detangled, and his now-full beard was braided. He had even acquired new clothes earlier that morning, lent to him by his eldest brother. He spent most of the morning searching for a lavender patch, finally finding one near the lake by his house. If he had ever seen a more beautiful lavender patch, he would be lying!_

_When he finally got to the bakery, he saw his beautiful Aurora, tending to some of the flowers outside of the shop. The scribe paused for a second, feeling a sudden rush over his body. He knew that this was going to be a life-changing day, and how! The brave little scribe ran up to the tall woman, placing the small lavender branch in her dark raven hair. No words were shared in that moment, only looks of love and gratitude were exchanged. Aurora grabbed the lavender branch, smelling it for a second, before placing a very quick peck on her dwarf’s cheek. The rest of this glorious day with the scribe and, as he soon figured out, the baker’s daughter was filled with laughter, smiles, and a few stolen kisses. He even figured out that day, during some of their long conversations about family, that Aurora’s mother was actually a dwarf woman, who had been on a errand the day before._

_Almost exactly one year to that beautiful day, the scribe announced to to his two brothers that he was to be wed to his chosen by Durin’s Day. The middle child, who was known for his rather outlandish ways of life, was excited for the new addition to the family. The eldest, on the other hand, was not._

_“How do you know you love this woman, dear brother? How do you know she’s not looking for the gold that we have stashed in our vault?”_

_The eldest was known to the town for wanting things to be in proper order, and for babying the youngest, our dear scribe. Even though the scribe was now a man. It was rumored that due to his poor relationship with his other brother, the eldest tried his best to heal it with the youngest. That, the scribe could tell you, was indeed fact._

_“My dear brother, with all due respect,” the scribe hissed, watching his eldest brother’s expression change from aggravation to disbelief. “I am a grown man. I know the difference between lust and love! I know that we are meant for each other. We are a pair made by Mahal himself! So if you wouldn’t mind, stop trying to control what I do with my life! I am no child, brother!”_

_A silence filled the small house, enough that you could hear a fly move it’s wings and a distant conversation, if you listened hard enough. The eldest stood up out of his chair, giving the scribe his hand. “My dear, sweet brother. If you truly feel that you are destined to be wed to this woman, then she must be your beloved. I give the pair of you my blessing!”_

_The two younger brothers cheered as they embraced the eldest in a tight hug. For this night, the scribe was able to ask for his beloved Aurora’s hand. If all things went well, by the end of tomorrow, the scribe would be on the way to his “happily ever after.”_

_As soon as the sun rose over Dale, the scribe ran towards the largish house with the green shutters, praying the whole way that Ovo and his wife, Haria, would agree to the betrothal. He knocked on the door thrice, being answered almost as soon as his fist stopped knocking. Only to be greeted with a hug from both Aurora’s Mama and Papa._

_“Our dear scribe,” started Haria, her beautiful beard braided in the most unusual way. “We heard the wonderful news from our daughter, and our answer is yes! One thousand times, yes!”_

_The small scribe couldn’t help but hug back just as tight, letting a few stray tears fall from his eyes. Just as he wished, his life is about to begin with his beloved Aurora._

_The wedding was a gathering to be envied, lavender everywhere in the Altar of Erebor. At the scribe’s request, the King Under the Mountain himself was the man to marry them both. The King gave the couple a sweet smile, telling them that it would be an honour for him, as long as he could find the time. After all, he was a very busy man, rebuilding a land once lost._

_The scribe had been dressed in a great amount of jewels and his finest garments, waiting for his wife-to-be to enter the room. He started to fiddle with his family braids, running his other hand through his freshly trimmed hair. He had made sure that his hair was long enough, and had gotten it trimmed properly by Aurora’s mother. She also made sure his hair looked the way he wanted it; a simple, long haircut, parted in the middle._

_The scribe almost choked, for when he saw his wife in her beautiful jewel-encrusted gown, he remembered that he would be with her for the rest of his life. The happy scribe watched his wife come in, stealing all of the eyes in the room, and nearly cried knowing that she would be his, now and forever._

_Not very long after the wedding, Aurora had news to share with the brothers of the scribe, as well as her Mama and Papa. She was to give birth within the next year! The whole family celebrated, for they knew everything was going wonderfully! The scribe and his wife sat up that whole night, holding each other close as they dreamed of rattles and cradles in their near future._

_The days quickly turned into nights, weeks into months, as the scribe watched his wife’s stomach grow with excitement. He couldn’t believe that soon he was going to be a father! He always made sure to have breakfast, lunch and dinner ready for his darling wife, ensuring that she didn’t have to worry and could knit or just go visit her parents. Aurora would tell everyone that asked that she must be the luckiest woman in the world to have such a caring husband._

_One night, Aurora shook the scribe awake. “It’s time, love! My water has broken!”_

_In no time at all, the scribe ran to the other side of town, getting her parents as well as the healer to help deliver this child. “Finally, it’s time!” exclaimed the scribe, almost screaming to the world. To most who he had woken up, he must have seemed crazy. He knew that he was running around like a chicken without a head. “Please, hurry to our house! She needs us!”_

_Within minutes, a group of people ran inside, finding Aurora in the large bed, laying down as she tried to keep her breaths deep and steady. The scribe ran to her side, stroking hair out of her face while grabbing her hand in his. The couple looked at each other, wide smiles on their face._

_“I can’t believe that our babe is here, my dear scribe. I have a feeling that we’re having a daughter.”_

_“My love, how do you know? That’s not something that you could be sure about.”_

_“My dear, she has been talking to me. We are very close, her and I.”_

_The scribe looked at his wife, as she looked back at him. He knew that she was in a lot of pain, for sweat was pouring off her. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fear, though he didn’t know why. Was it because of this new responsibility? Did he know that this child would be a very new thing to him? That must have been it. He was soon shooed out of the room, as the healer told him to wait in the hall._

_The scribe sat there for hours, waiting for any time that he could sneak into the room to comfort his wife. He noticed the stretches of time got longer and longer, her screams doing just the same. The healer eventually came out of the room to get the nervous father-to-be._

_“We need you in here, dear scribe.” The healer looked down, almost going pale as he looked back at the scribe with overwhelming sadness. “For you see, your wife might be having some trouble.”_

_It wasn’t until the door was shut behind him, that the scribe laid eyes on his wife. He could tell just by the look on her face that something was wrong. The whole room had that horrible feeling to it. He almost started to cry right there, but made sure to stay strong for his wife. It was the least that he could do for her. He knew now that he would have to put another thought to the growing list of worries tonight. Losing his wife from her birthing their child. He knew that it wasn’t rare for women to die while delivering their bundles of joy. The scribe knew quite a few men who suffered in grief as they held their new child in one hand, and their dead beloved’s in the other._

_The scribe knew he had to put on a brave face, even as he was dying little by little on the inside. It shocked him when his wife called for him, motioning for him to come over to her. He jumped out of his skin as Aurora started to scream once again. This time, he could tell that the baby was starting to come out of its resting place. He sat there, gripping his wife’s hand as she screamed again, pushing out the life they’d both made. It did not take much longer. He heard one final blood-curdling scream before her head hit the pillow in defeat._

_The scribe smiled wide as he heard a new cry in the room. He ran over to the healer, seeing that he was staring down, rather shocked by what he was seeing. The scribe felt his heart drop and flutter at the same time. For there, as small as she was, was a little girl. His wife was very much right. He held out his arms, taking the little girl in his hands. As she screamed, he noticed that she was very pale, hair entirely white, though she’d just been born. He was about to question, when Aurora’s mother gave him a smile from the other side of the bed._

_“It’s okay, love. She is what we call an albino. She is healthy, we promise.”_

_His head tilted to one side, not knowing what that meant at all, but was drawn out of his curiosity as soon as he noticed what was going on just inches behind him. The healer had been getting buckets worth of new rags, trying to stop the blood that was pouring out of his wife. The scribe could tell by how much there was, that this wasn’t slowing anything down. He looked up at Aurora, noticing she was very much scared and calling him over. The scribe hurried over to her, placing one of his hands on her collarbone._

_“My love, what’s wrong? Why are they having so much trouble?” He asked her, noticing her face said it all. He looked down, finally letting the tears fall from his eyes before she placed one of her hands on his._

_“My dear scribe, please let me see her. I know that she’s going to be beautiful...” Her speech was slurred, almost like she was about to fall asleep. He could tell by the glaze in her eyes and the limpness of her limbs that his worst fear was being realized. He placed the new child on her chest. The scribe tried to clean up his tears a bit, watching his wife brush the child’s cheek, before she looked up at her husband. Aurora gave him a smile, shutting her eyes. But before she shut them all the way, he heard one last sentiment from her._

_“My dear scribe, I love you, so much. Please tell her...I love her too.”_

_The room was silent for a moment, before only cries could be heard in the room. The baker held his wife as she sobbed into his chest. The baker looked up at the scribe, making him feel sick to his stomach. He looked down at his wife, who was very lightly holding onto the baby girl in her arms. He finally lifted the small child back into his arms, looking deep into her eyes. It was then that he cried, holding his child close to his chest. It wasn’t until he felt two hands on his that he noticed a new woman. He knew her from the healer himself, she being the one who would be helping Aurora with the baby when she returned to work. She lightly gripped the baby, taking her away to feed her._

_It was as if all of the scribe’s strength left him as he fell to the floor with a loud thud. He sat on that floor for what felt like hours, silently cursing himself for wanting children at all. But as soon as he remembered the child in the nurse’s arms, he cursed himself again for even thinking such a thing. He knew that this child was the product of his and Aurora’s love. He knew that she had wanted this child as much as he did. He just couldn’t help but wonder..._

_“Ori, why did this have to happen to you?”_

********

As Ori wrote the last sentence, he noticed that he had written his name instead of keeping the story anonymous. He sat there for a moment, angry that he would make such a mistake. He had been writing stories for many people. Several of them quite personal, such as the retaking of Erebor. Why was this one hurting him so much more? It had been several years ago, after all... 

Ori sat there in complete frustration, resting his head in his hands, about to cry before he heard the study door open. He stopped immediately, smiling as he looked down at his small child. She was old enough now to walk and talk, looking more and more like her mother with each passing day. She walked towards him, big smile on her face, dragging her stuffed rabbit by the ears. She threw her hands in the air, making Ori laugh as he picked her up. The child sat down in his lap, silent for a moment, before putting one hand on the top of the page. 

“Papa, what are you doing?”

He laughed again, somehow feeling the laugh from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes. “Well Neva, Papa’s just,-”  
“Are you scribbling?!” Her smile got wider, showing off the space in her mouth from a tooth Neva had lost a few days ago that was now being made into a necklace. “I can scribble too, Papa!” 

Ori watched in amusement as she grabbed one of his charcoal sticks, scribbling violently on the page beside the one he had just written on. He couldn’t help but notice the shining smile on her face, and those brilliant blue eyes sparkling as she scribbled for her Papa. The contented feeling in Ori’s chest was immediately filled with another feeling, making him feel warm and completely at peace with the beautiful morning outside; Love. 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, sorry for how long this chapter took to publish! I have been working on it with Baconnegg for a while, but school and job searching have gotten in the way, followed by a little bit of writer's block. :P I hope that you guys like the chapter!


	7. Meet Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's eldest son, a girl, and a few false starts.

“-And that’s why we’re having partridge for supper instead of beef. Leave it to Fili and Kili to bungle something like that.” Bella shakes her head as she stokes the fire just a touch. She straightens up, wincing at a creak from her lower back, and sees her eldest son fling open his book the second he realizes the story is over. “Terribly sorry, am I disturbing you?”

“No, Mama! Of course not,” Thrain closes the book again, smiling. The young man was in higher spirits than usual, his coming-of-age celebration of a few days ago had been a rousing success. His rare appearance in the family sitting room was due in part to that, and also to all six of his siblings, his cousin, and his father being occupied elsewhere. “I’m just at a good part, that’s all.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind bookmarking whichever thrilling chapter of,-” Bella pushed the spine of the book up with her thumb, squinting to read the title. “‘On the Incarnations of Durin the Deathless?’”

“My lesson from Haror this week. I want to make sure I’m finished in time.” Thrain grins even wider. The corners of Bella’s mouth turn up in kind. For his craft, Thrain had chosen the decidedly unusual and specific path of becoming a Scholar of Mahal. He’d spent twenty years, a full half of his life now, apprenticed to the Priest of Erebor’s Altar. When he wasn’t learning to swing swords in the fields or words in the court, he would inevitably be reading about the Valar, Eru, or the early days of the dwarves. Or else, singing and playing his harp, or happily running one of the dozens of errands required to keep the hallowed little place clean and running. It was a choice that had been met with delayed, tight-lipped approval from Thorin, but even he couldn’t deny that having a learned heir would undoubtedly be good for Erebor.

“Since you have six days yet to finish it, would you mind running a little errand for me?”

“Not at all!” Thrain sets his book to one side, pushing himself out of his comfortable position in the armchair with one hand. “What sort of errand?”

Bella’s hands flutter about her waist for several seconds, finally finding the correct skirt pocket and retrieving a folded square of parchment. “Would you mind making a quick ride into Dale and giving this to dear Ori?”

Thrain bites his lip, looking quizzically the parchment in his hand. “If you don’t mind me asking, couldn’t you just have the messenger boy take care of this?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Bella huffs, crossing her arms and cocking her head to one side. “He’s entirely unreliable, and Ori must receive it by today’s end. Believe me, I’ll have the boy sacked and replaced before you’re even back.”

Thrain slips the parchment into a safe inner pocket of his blue tunic while barely holding back a smirk. “Didn’t you say the same about the last one?”

“Yes, and the one before that. Good help seems quite impossible to find.” She stands on tiptoe, using his shoulder to balance, and pecks her son’s bearded cheek. “Be back in time for dinner. And wear a coat.”

A warmth bubbles in Thrain’s chest. He inclines his head to kiss his mother’s white curls. “Of course, Mama.”

* * *

A chill spring breeze winds through the streets of Dale as Thrain ties his pony to the hitching post outside of Ori’s house. It’s far removed from the main road, but not difficult to find. Although Thrain had only visited once or twice, when he was very young. Ori’s job as the King’s Scribe meant it was usually easier for him to stop by before going home than all of them to come out to visit. Thrain opens the gate slowly, taking a moment to appreciate the property. The house is a finely constructed structure, only two floors high but very wide. Splendid wood-framed windows are the only interruptions to the whitewashed stone, and the roof didn’t appear to be missing even one red shingle. The steps up to the high oaken door are swept clean. The surrounding grounds neatly kept, and appear to extend far behind the house. A small stable is a stone’s throw away from the leftmost wall, and the nickering of at least two ponies can be heard.

Only right for one of the saviours of Erebor, Thrain thinks as he raps his fist against the door. A moment of scurrying is heard before the door is thrown open, revealing Dori wearing a flour-covered apron.

“Oh! Prince Thrain!” Dori bows quickly, vainly trying to wipe flour off his front. “At your service. What a surprise to see you here, do come in! Is your father well?”

“Everyone is just as they were when you left court this afternoon.” Thrain scrapes his boots clean in the front entrance, politely stepping just inside the impressively large and well-furnished sitting room. “I’ve come to give a message from my mother to Ori, is he in?”

“Oh, yes. He’s sketching somewhere out back. I’ll see if I can’t find him.” Dori slips his apron off, careful not to catch it on his complicated braids. “Follow me to the kitchen. You can help yourself while I go dwarf-hunting.”

“Don’t rush on my account, I haven’t anything else to do today.” Thrain calls after the older dwarf, who’s shuffling ahead of him at an impressive pace. The large, doorless entrance of the kitchen announces itself in the hall off the sitting room. The sizeable oven is clearly in mid-use. Delicious heat fills the kitchen so entirely that Thrain has to shed his fur coat, a hemmed artifact from Thorin’s journeying days, onto a small stool in the corner.

A tray of carrot muffins are lightly steaming at one end of the high counter. Thrain devours one, and then another. Both of his parents had been heard to remark that Dori’s cooking skills left much to be desired, but he apparently has a way with desserts. He starts nibbling at just one more as he looks around the kitchen, trying to decide what bits of ephemera belong to which of the Brothers Ri. As he contemplates an oddly-shaped knife stuck in the cutting board, he’s nearly startled into choking by a shrill scream behind him.

Thrain whirls around to find a white-haired young woman standing in a smaller, second doorway off in the far corner. She stares at him with wide blue eyes before turning as pink as the gown she wears and bowing quickly. “Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t recognize you at first and my father and uncles are out and- Neva! My name is Neva! At your service!”

“Quite alright!” Thrain says with difficulty, swallowing a half-chewed bit of muffin as he speaks. He holds out his hand as the young woman is upright once more, still quite pink. “You must be Ori’s daughter, my mother has mentioned you. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“And I yours, your Majesty.” The young woman offers a shaky but gleaming smile along with her hand. His mother had described Ori’s daughter conversationally, but seeing her was something else entirely. Her skin as pale as white marble, veins of blue and red showing through. Her features and form have the rounded qualities of Ori, but her nose and jaw are fine, foreign. Pale blue eyes peer out from under a defined brow. Long eyelashes blink at him, the same off-white as the hair plaited in one large, continuous braid behind her head, and the wispy sideburns that suggest a beard started but left unfinished.

Thrain disappoints himself when he notices the flower-embroidered gown hugs ample swells of chest and hips. He takes her hand, kissing it quickly before he privately embarasses himself further. That turns her bright pink again, but her full lips remain shaped into a smile. Before Thrain can attempt any sort of conversation, Dori bursts in with Ori in tow.

“Here he is!” Dori wraps a hand around Ori’s shoulders, fairly shoving him into the kitchen. Ori smiles sideways at his older brother, trying to keep hold of the sketchbook and charcoal sticks clutched to his chest. “Ah, Neva! I was wondering where you were! I trust that you’ve introduced yourself properly?”

“Of course, Uncle.” Neva’s smile changes to a more relaxed one, eyes crinkling at the edges. Thrain has to make himself turn towards Ori when he’s greeted.

“Hello, Prince Thrain.” Ori says in his usual soft voice, reaching up to pull a stray hair out from under his scarf. “Dori said you have a letter for me?”

“Right! Um,” Thrain does a spot-on imitation of his mother’s fumbling from earlier, at last finding the parchment where he left it. Ori takes it and steps intentionally away from Dori’s prying gaze to read it, smiling after a moment.

“You can tell her I will definitely be there.” Ori grins as he stuffs the letter into his pocket, much to the silent frustration of his brother. “Do you want anything before you go on your way? A spot of food or drink, maybe?”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Thrain wipes imaginary muffin crumbs from his beard. Out of seemingly nowhere, a bold thought forms in his mind and rushes out of his mouth before he can question it. “Though I was wondering, if I could invite your daughter to have supper with us?”

Everyone is taken slightly aback, perhaps none more so than Thrain. He shoots a polite glance at Neva as he tries to retrace his steps. “I mean, I know you and your brothers so well we might as well be family, but I’ve never even met this young lady before today. I feel so rude, I’d like to make up for it. My sisters would love to get to know her, as well. I’ll have her safely home in plenty of time. That is, if that’s alright with you?”

Ori grins wide at him, shining eyes revealing nothing. “What do you think, dear? Do you want to go?”

Neva’s eyes are wide again, fingertips of one hand touching her chin in surprise. “I...will need a few moments to get ready.”

“That’s fine, we have plenty of time.” Thrain adds while mentally sticking his foot in his mouth.

“Very well then. I’d be happy to join you.” Neva dips her head for a second before hurrying back up the stairs. Dori starts bustling around the kitchen, throwing up a great deal of flour dust in the process. Ori leads a slightly-dazed Thrain back into the sitting room for a seat and some conversation about why won’t the weather warm up already.

A short while later, Thrain hears Neva come down the kitchen stairs again. A pause and a hushed, intense conversation are followed by quick footsteps in the hall and Dori’s voice quietly calling “Make a good impression!” Thrain tries his best to ignore all of this and listen as Ori talks about the spring melt coming much earlier last year.

Dori sticks his head in the sitting room door. “Neva’s gone to get a pony out of the stable, you can meet her outside.” After a few farewells and assurances, Thrain finds himself opening the gate as Neva comes trotting down the path on a grey-speckled mare. Bundled tightly in a deep purple velvet cloak and a matching scarf wrapped expertly around her head so that, Thrain notes, it shields her face and neck without obstructing her view.

The first few minutes of the ride to Erebor are spent in awkward silence. Neither of them seem to want to be the one who starts the conversation. Thrain desperately wracks his brain for something clever or witty to say, but it is Neva who at last speaks first.

“Ah! Not this way, if you don’t mind.” Neva says when Thrain turns to go down the path to Dale’s main road. “I’d prefer if we took this one. It’s just a bit longer, but with no one in our way, it hardly matters!”

Thrain looks over to see the preferred path. It seems to run parallel to his usual route, going in back of most of Dale’s buildings rather than in front. It’s a little more out of the way and ill-kept, but well-lit and not particularly dangerous-looking. “If you insist, lead on!”

The conversation withers again as they carry on down the road. Thrain can hear his father’s voice loud and clear in his head, spouting diplomatic advice recycled from Balin in competition with his own monologue. You can charm an ill-tempered Firebeard lord into jovial laughter, but talk to a girl? Apparently you’re too green for that, Mister Prince Under the Mountain.

Thrain’s reminded of his father yet again, when a woman saves him from himself. Neva turns and braves an excited countenance. “You know, this will be my first time visiting Erebor proper. I’m rather excited to see it.”

Thrain twists in his saddle so fast, his inner thigh is pinched for a brief, excruciating moment. “Really? Your father and uncles come nearly every day of the year, why haven’t you?” 

“I guess I’m a bit of a homebody, that way.” Neva shrugs, smile turning endearingly crooked. “Don’t get out much. I’ve been to the front gates, though. On Durin’s Day and a few other special occasions. That’s fun.”

“That answers my second question, about how you recognized me.” Thrain returns the smile. Yes, this is good. Small talk is the first step, just keep it going. “I’m surprised we were never introduced before now. I always seek out your family on Durin’s Day, they’re such fun at parties.”

“Uncle Dori always makes sure I get home early, before things get too rowdy. Maybe in two more years, when I come of age, I’ll be allowed to stay longer.”

“Ah, I see.” Thrain fiddles with the reins, feeling strangely disappointed. “You have met my mother, haven’t you? I know she has tea with your father at least once a month.”

“Yes, I have!” Neva brightens considerably, sitting up higher in her saddle. Thrain picks this moment to take very belated notice that Neva has a fringe, and that he finds it rather cute. “Bel-The Queen is a wonderful person! She’s ever so kind, even lends me books from her very own library. And without her help, I think I would have had to be fostered out before I was twenty-five!”

Thrain is silently pleased. Proper conversation has been achieved! One point to the Prince Under the Mountain! “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just that,- the three of them can be rather silly about some things, you see. Buying clothes and all the rest. Them being men, and my uncles have never married. My father was only married for a short time, as well.”

Minus one point to the Prince Under the Mountain for steering the conversation in the direction of your companion’s dead mother. “I have five sisters, so hopefully you’ll find that I’m not quite as ‘silly.’”

Neva giggles quite genuinely and at length, success! “Hopefully not! It must be quite lively in the palace, with all seven of you. You surely never lacked for playmates when you were all small.”

“Playmates? More like potential victims! See this scar on my palm?” Thrain holds up his hand, trying very hard to ignore that he’s actually calling attention to one of his old wounds. “Let me tell you about Princess Amarantha’s clever plan to escape our mother and venture to Mirkwood...”

* * *

“I’m sorry that you have to walk me home all by yourself,” Neva frowns as she mounts her pony. “Are you sure you’ll be safe on the way back?”

“Quite sure!” Thrain pats the broad swords strapped to his hips. “Besides, it’s not as if we can wait around for someone else to leave. If we don’t have you home soon, your family will be worried.” In reality, Thrain could ask one of the guards to escort them, but he felt more than capable of taking care of himself and his companion. And besides, a bodyguard detail would stifle any meaningful interaction.

“We will have to take the main road this time,” Thrain says as the dim lantern-lights of Dale come into view. “It just isn’t safe to go through the woods.”

“That’s fine.” Neva’s words manifest as a white puff of fog in the cold air. She tightens her scarf, now revealing more of her face than earlier. The light of the three-quarter moon makes her skin look like smooth stone. “Hardly anyone will be out and about now, anyways.”

“Do crowds bother you that much?” Thrain knew of hobbits and men that disliked being confined, but it didn’t lend itself as a dwarf trait.

Neva laughs. It’s not her giggle that was heard all through the meal, it’s sour and short. “More the other way around. That other path might be a little rough, but I’ve yet to meet a deer that’s shooed her children away from me.”

Thrain turns to face her properly, though it doesn’t matter because his eye is on her side. Neva stares ahead, stiff and unsmiling. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Your Highness,” Neva says it with a sigh, turning to meet his gaze. “I know flattery is a part of your job, but I’m perfectly aware of how I appear to others, that people who don’t know of my condition find me repulsive. I accept it and work around it. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

“I didn’t, I wasn’t,-” Thrain stops himself. Thinking for a moment before he has to taste foot for the second time in one day. “That’s awful, that people would be anything less than respectful towards you. No one has the right to judge, let alone ill-treat anyone before they’ve even spoken to them. Especially since you are the daughter and niece of three of Erebor’s saviours, that ought to be enough motivation for any dwarf, at least.”

“You are correct. However,” Neva’s eyes bore into his own, and for an odd moment he thinks he can see the night sky reflected in them. “I’m sure you’re well aware that most people don’t follow that advice.”

Thrain is struck dumb. Very few bring up his exceptionally visible scars, preferring to dance around the subject should it ever come up. He can’t blame anyone for not wanting to mention that one time a bunch of Orcs captured and tortured the heir to the throne. But it’s not as if he doesn’t miss the way someone winces when they happen to mention arrows and feel the need to backpedal.

“Forgive me,” Neva ducks her head slightly. His disquiet had apparently shown on his face. “I was merely referring to the fact that you are the son of two Company members, yet you only appear in public when you must. Uncle Nori bumps into all your siblings at the markets quite regularly, but never you. And I’m sure you only get a tenth of the stares I do.”

“I am entirely sure that I get much worse attention than you do!”

Neva frowns properly for the first time that day. “How? You are a prince and an accomplished warrior!”

“And you are the furthest thing from repulsive that I have ever seen!”

The pair stare at each other for a long moment, eyebrows raised and thoroughly perplexed. Neva is once again the first to break the silence. “So which one of us is right?”

“In most cases, I’d defer to a lady. But this time I’ll have to insist that I’m in the right.”

Neva studies him for a second before collapsing in a fit of snorting laughter. Thrain happily follows her, laughing more at the release of tension than his own weak joke. They’re still bent over the manes of their ponies as they pass Dale’s watchpost, making the night guard give them the side-eye. Once they recover themselves, Neva turns to him again. Her scarf has slipped down past her ears, and her hair takes on the yellow-orange of passing lamps. “Papa is right, you are your mother’s son.”

“In what way?”

“The way you use your words, the way you gesture,” Neva trails off, flapping a hand as a supplemental explanation. “Papa’s always saying he hopes he lives long enough to see the male version of ‘our burglar’ take the throne.”

“Considering that burglar is the reason we have the throne again, I’ll take that as high praise.” Thrain makes a show of puffing out his chest. To achieve a tenth of what his mother had, like in those tales told with rich, spilling enthusiasm by his father at bedtimes past, that would really be something. For now, he’ll content himself with resembling her. “Speaking of family, I think mine loved having you over. Would you like to come back again some time?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Neva’s eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. “Coming all this way just to collect a supper guest.”

“Maybe I’d be happy to come all this way to collect a supper guest,” Thrain’s voices echoes a little too loudly in the empty main road. He sees people peering from alleys and doorways and hushes himself. “Maybe I’d like to come all this way to spend an afternoon with you. Perhaps two afternoons, or more. If you would like.”

Two spots of colour glow high on Neva’s cheeks. “Why would you want to do all of that?”

“You’re an observant woman,” Thrain smirks, making Neva blush a little harder. “Did you not notice when we got on that wonderful tangent about the creation of the Two Lamps even Dis stopped following us? If I had you around to ramble with regularly, I might stop talking to myself like a nut.”

Neva giggles again, shoulders shaking as she nudges her mare to turn up the road to her house. “Do you really talk to yourself that much?”

“Why don’t we meet one week from today and you can find out?” Thrain grins at her, a chuckle lingering in his throat. “Same time, same place, less screaming when you see me?”

Neva feigns shock and makes to swat at him, but can’t quite reach. “Sounds like a bit of fun. I’ll look forward to it.”

Thrain’s smile transforms into a grimace momentarily. “I’ll have to add a disclaimer that I might not show on account of an Orc attack, a last-minute scouting mission, or a surprise visit by Lord Someone of Somewhere. I will try to send a message if such a thing happens, but I really cannot make any promises.”

“I understand, royal duty waits for no man. Though I reserve the right to make this face-” Neva scowls quite impressively for a brief moment. “The next time I see you afterwards. Fair?”

“Fair!” The pair laugh heartily once more. Thrain feels as if all the cobwebs have been cleaned from his chest, he’s laughed so much today. At Neva’s splendid house, they dismount and to Thrain’s surprise, the mare walks directly to the stable as soon as the gate is opened. Nicely trained for an old thing.

Neva fidgets, seemingly unsure of what to do. “Thank you so very much for your invitation and hospitality. It certainly wasn’t what I expected to find when I came down the stairs.”

“And I didn’t expect to find you when Dori sent me into the kitchen.” Thrain takes her hand, this time covered with a smooth leather glove, and pecks it just like he did earlier. “Until next time?”

“Until next time.” Neva offers one last winning smile before closing the gate behind her. Thrain stays put until he sees the distinctive silhouette of Nori exit the side door and join her in her walk to put up her pony. He mounts his own, and as he canters back to Erebor, Thrain thanks Mahal for gifting him with such a wonderful new friendship.

* * *

_About One Year Later_

The Altar of Mahal, a tiny rock cache in the heart of Erebor, is a refuge. Where legends are copied meticulously and repeatedly, where ancient verses are sung over and over, where ceremonies are held in the same pattern of the seasons. It is a place of early education, of matrimony, of final passing. Dwarves of all kinds come and go at random, asking for blessings on babies, prospects, and secret hopes. It has been maintained by a priest and his various acolytes for countless generations.

One such priest is watching a particular acolyte sweep the Altar floor much harder than necessary.

“Hello Thrain,” Haror finally exits the hidden doorway, alerting the young man to his presence. “You’re here early.”

“Oh! Hello sir! How are you, today?” Thrain halts his vicious assault on the floor, standing up straight and facing him. Haror always feels privileged to see this side of the Heir of Durin. Dressed in worn linen workclothes and an apron, smiling brilliantly, resting his hand on the edge of the white Altar. Completely unaffected by the midwinter chill that shocks Haror’s bones. It’s a sight he gets to see only on the weekly day of rest, the day Thrain has the time to give to his apprenticeship.

“I think that’s enough cleaning for today, come into the study.” The light filtering in from the small, mountain-top opening of the shaft high over their heads is faint and tinged blue, but Haror can still see worry-lines around the young man’s eyes.

“Very well!” Thrain props his broom against the wall, dropping his apron in the same spot. He follows Haror back through the door in the corner, invisible to anyone not aware that it is there, into an adequately-sized study. Books, scrolls, and odds and ends of all sorts are neatly organized thanks to years of eager, unquestioning apprentices. Everything from lamp to fire poker is visibly second-hand. Two finely-crafted armchairs sit off-centre, near the fireplace. Not directly facing each other, but close together and tilted slightly inward, as if always caught in conspiratorial conversation.

“What’s today’s lesson, sir?” Thrain asks, far too cheerful for such an early hour. “I’ve been practicing that one hymn you showed me on my harp. I’m having a little trouble with the last few bars, though. I just can’t seem to get it quite right.”

“I’ll try to help you with that later. For now, I’d like you to tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t,” Haror holds up a finger when Thrain starts sputtering an excuse. “Lie and say ‘nothing.’”

Thrain heaves a royally melodramatic sigh and shuffles over to the smaller armchair. Once they’re both seated, Thrain takes his time fidgeting. Smoothing imaginary wrinkles and subconsciously touching his eyepatch, until finally speaking in a very small voice, “Well, there’s this girl,-”

“Mahal give me strength!” Haror rakes fingers through his dark brown beard. He stands and grabs a decanter of wine off the mantle, filling a small glass. Sitting down again, he nods at Thrain, who looks quite put out. “Sorry for the interruption. I’ve been expecting this for some time. Go on, tell me about this girl. What’s her name?”

“Her name is Neva, she resides in Dale.”

“Ah, yes, that would be Master Ori’s daughter. He brought her as a babe to show me, once. Such a shame about her mother.”

“Indeed,” Thrain nods, looking less put out now. “I met her about a year ago, rather by accident. My mother sent me to give Ori a- Well, that’s not important. I found her so charming that I struck up a friendship with her. We talk about nearly everything. She’s so well-read, loves to learn about all sorts of things. Even the Shire! We’ve been exploring the history of the Took family together through- Oh, that’s a bit off-topic, isn’t it?”

“No, no,” Haror waves a hand at the young man, who is positively glowing by this point. “Tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

“Well, speaking with her is always so entertaining. She’s unafraid to tell me if she thinks I’m wrong, willing to joke as well as be serious with me. Endlessly caring, skilled at a great number of things, and if you’ll permit me to be entirely honest, so beautiful that she sometimes steals my breath away.”

“Basically perfect, then?” Haror says on a long sip of wine. “As perfect as a mortal can be, anyways.”

“Yes!” Thrain fairly jumps out of seat, remembers himself, and scoots back with a red tinge glowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly it. And that’s why I’m in love with her! There, I’ve said it! No one can call me dishonest now!”

“No one does.” Haror swirls the wine in the glass, stroking his beard with his free hand. “What’s the matter, then? Is this the part where you tell me she loves someone else?”

Thrain shakes his head sadly. “No, the problem is,-There’s two problems, actually. The first one is I’m afraid that if I confess my feelings, she’ll return them out of a sense of obligation. You understand?”

“Hmm, that is a reasonable concern.” Haror picks up his Priest’s Chain with two fingers, rubbing his thumb over the jeweled link that signifies his ability to perform marriages. “Would you say you’re a reasonably good judge of people?”

“I have to be.” Thrain sits up, shoulders back, voice deepening just a touch. “Not being one might spell the end for all of Erebor, someday. I’ve taken time to study people the way I study fighting forms, or my lessons here.”

“Then you’ll have to trust yourself to look beyond the young, pretty face in front of you and see if she’s genuine in her reply. If she’s anything like her father, I don’t believe she’ll lead you on about anything.”

“She is very blunt. I enjoy that about her.” Thrain smiles slightly, eye wandering to some empty corner that he’s decided to project his thoughts onto.

Haror narrowly avoids the temptation to snap his fingers and startle the prince. “And what is the second problem?”

Thrain looks startled anyways. A distinct shade of red covers him face to neck, posture showing his mind’s discomfort in a way that would surely provoke displeasure in his father, were he here to witness it. “I thought you might have done the math by now. Neva does not come of age for nearly another year.”

“You two are already close friends. You can wait a little longer to announce your intentions, can’t you?”

Thrain is markedly still and silent.

“You haven’t waited at all. You’re asking for my advice retroactively.”

“Please don’t think badly of me!” Thrain flaps his hands in a manner resembling a frantic bird as Havor stands to refill his glass. “I’ve only kissed her once! On the cheek- Well, it was supposed to be on the cheek. She’s the one who grabbed my shirt collar and kissed me on the mouth!”

“And you, of course, responded with a thoughtful chiding about patience and honouring sacred traditions?” Thrain frowns up at him, nose scrunched and resembling his frequent pouting from childhood. “I thought not.”

“I did feel very sorry for it afterwards.” Haror levels a look at him. “Okay, some time afterwards. I know I should have waited, but I couldn’t help myself! Bottling these feelings up for quite a while now, and the thought of waiting another year was driving me mad!”

“I wondered why you’ve been going through so many harp strings recently.” Haror smiles at him, though Thrain’s not in the mood to smile back. “So that was your moment of romantic confession, then? A stolen kiss in a field somewhere?”

“More of a forest path, really.”

“Ach, that’s sweet. Reminds me of when my wife and I were your age, young and silly for each other. Our stolen moments had to happen in behind her mother’s shop, though. Not many forest paths in Ered Luin.”

“...Aren’t you going to chastise me?” Thrain inquires, corner of his mouth still twisted into a frown and hands wound together on his lap. “I’m courting a girl who has yet to go through her coming-of-age ceremony.”

“Are you reminding me of the traditions, or yourself? It is unnecessary either way.” Thrain shrinks minutely. Haror swallows another mouthful of wine. “Since there’s less than a year left, and she’s clearly as mad for you as you are for her, I wouldn’t wring your hands too much. You’ll make far greater errors in your life, ones are worth worrying about. Hold off on the public announcement, obviously, but carry on as you are.”

“Oh yes, of course!” Thrain’s face blooms with happiness. “Her father would gut me, I’m certain. Never mind what Dori and Nori would do afterwards.” A flash of teeth appear, sinking into Thrain’s bottom lip. “Are you certain I shouldn’t back off entirely? A scholar of Mahal bucking dwarvish traditions sounds like the set-up to a bad joke.”

“I’m quite certain. Now, I would say something if you were, for instance, investigating country matters with a girl of twenty-five.”

“ _Sir!_ ” Thrain’s jaw drops, his whole appearance is one of absolute shock.

“Oh, take a deep breath, why don’t you? You know I only say things like that to get a rise out of you.” Haror sets his glass aside and stands, large hands coming to rest on Thrain’s slim shoulders. “Come on, then, let’s see if you can’t learn those last few bars.”

The last few bars are indeed learned. Another interpretation of Eru’s adoption of the dwarves is read aloud and discussed at great and passionate length. Extensive prayers are recited. As the noon sun makes the snow of the Lonely Mountain glitter, Haror’s wife appears with a lunch tray insisting that even divine matters require substantial fuel.

Thrain thanks her with honest enthusiasm. Haror’s wife is the seamstress possessing the sought-after royal contract. She’s had a measuring tape over every part of Thrain and his family members for as long as they’ve been a family. Her skill is frequently complimented, particularly by Dis and Thorin, but it’s her heart that is truly prized. Attending to the family so often and especially around special occasions, such as Thorin and Bella’s wedding that almost required her to live at the palace full-time, allowed her to become a dear friend, sometimes governess, and not-infrequent giver of advice. Dornia is her actual name, but Thrain and the other children have all come to privately know her as “Nana.”

Haror and Dornia were married long before the call for Erebor colonists ever went out to Ered Luin. For reasons entirely unknown, they had never been graced with children. Even amongst dwarves, well-known for their obsessively loyal hearts, this was grounds for divorce. In fact, because of the low birth rate, childless couples were encouraged to split up and see if they couldn’t rectify the matter with others.

No such inclination seemed to exist within the walls of their humble home. Thrain smiles down into his stew as he listens to them playfully bicker about whether the white dust on Haror’s tunic is chalk from Dornia’s gown or his own fault. Because really, when did he last let her dust that study?

“You’ll drive me to an early grave, woman!” Haror pulls her down to kiss her bearded cheek, even as she playfully squirms away, still nattering at him. Thrain notices that her pale brown hair has streaks of grey in it, as do Haror’s frontmost braids. The observation runs hot and cold in his mind, and he decides to risk a question.

“If you wouldn’t mind me asking,” Thrain gets their dual attention focused on him, and feels a little embarrassed. “At what point did you know, for certain, that you wanted to spend your lives together?”

Dornia rests her cheek in her hand, propping her elbow on her seated husband’s shoulder. Haror smiles long and knowingly at Thrain before joining his wife in seemingly joined thought. Thrain shoves a spoonful of beef and broth into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He knows the story of his parents joining, they didn’t even have to tell him. Everyone knows of the dramatic love of Thorin Oakenshield and Bella Baggins, developing against a backdrop of journey and adventure. Climaxing with the unusual event of a hobbit abandoning the Shire behind to come live amongst dwarves. It was beautiful, and continued to be so. Songs would be sung about it for generations. But Thrain was no hero. Perhaps someday he might be, but it did no good to count on someday’s. He was facing the possibility of getting a wife in the usual way, and had no desire to bungle it on account of ignorance.

“I suppose,” Haror drawls, clasping his hands on the table. “When I knew that there were any number of dwarf women out there, with any number of desirable qualities that I could easily go and seek out. But I could not imagine leaving Dornia for any of them. So marriage was only the next logical step.”

“Well put.” Dornia’s green-blue eyes crinkle as she presses a kiss her husband’s forehead.

“I do my best to try and out-talk you.” Dornia smacks his shoulder before leaving for her workroom in the front of the house. Priest and acolyte return to their lunch. One lost in thought, the other in smiling observance.

A thought occurs to Haror, as Thrain guzzles his mug of ale, clearly getting excited for the afternoon’s tasks. He takes a good half a minute to silently reprimand himself for being slow, before clearing his throat. “Thrain, did you actually confess your feelings to that lass, or did you just kiss her?”

“I haven’t, that’s why I asked your advice.” Thrain says candidly, wiping ale from his beard. “And she kissed me, I’d like to make that distinction very clear.”

Haror sighs. “Thrain, give me your hand.” The prince looks befuddled, but holds out his right hand. “No, palm down.”

The moment Thrain obeys, Haror brings down a mighty smack across his hand. Thrain recoils immediately, hissing more in surprise than actual pain. “What was that for?! You haven’t done that to me in years!”

“For the same reason as when you were young: Not using your words like a grown-up.” Haror picks up and tears a large chunk out of his slice of bread. “Now, finish your lunch. Go prepare for the young ones to arrive. And if you come back next week not having told her your feelings, by Mahal, I’ll ghostwrite a love letter for you myself! Understood?”

Thrain massages his hand. “Yes, sir.”

“There’s a good lad.”

**_ FIN _ **


	8. Whole Lotta Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neva and Thrain have dinner with the royal family.
> 
> I will warn you now for extreme fluff!

“Hello, Thrain! I’m so excited for this supper!” Neva exclaims, barely able to keep calm. If she loved to do one thing, it was to have supper at the palace with Thrain and his family. Of course, due to Thorin’s not quite approving of their courting, it only happened when he was gone, but she loved going whenever she could. She moves a stray hair from her pony’s face, before kissing her on the head. Thrain held the pony’s rein, making sure she doesn’t run away.

“I’m excited, as well! Holly’s been bugging me for weeks, wondering when ‘the really pale girl’ was coming back. If I may say so, I think that she likes you.”

Neva felt herself smile, seeing Thrain grin as wide as he did. She knows that he was under much stress as of late, having to do more paperwork than ever due to his father being gone more and more. If Thrain arrived with ink all over his wrists, he had most likely been up most of the night and day checking reports. She had even witnessed him sleeping on her uncle’s chair, waking up abruptly, only to run to get a quill and paper. The way he wrote, she knew that he thought he was filling out documents. But those times were always better than when he would wake out of a night terror.

“Well love, I hope that they all like me to some extent. I seem to come over a lot more than I used to!” She placed a kiss on Thrain’s cheek, not missing the dopey grin he wore right after.

“Silly prince! If people see you like that, they won’t take you seriously!” Neva tried to do her best Thorin impression, even going as far as moving her hair the same was he did when he was getting serious. Which was all the time. The man really did shake his hair a lot, for a big bad King.

Thrain almost falls off his mount, holding up his hand. “St-stop, my stomach is killing me! I want to be able to eat my heart out at dinner! Mama’s making your favorite.”

“Halibut with potatoes?!” It’s Neva’s turn to almost fall off her pony, excitement filling her. Bella was good at making anything, but her way with fish always sent Neva swooning.

“Indeed! I asked her to make it for you. You are very welcome, my princess.”

Neva pushes his shoulder, and he gives her a warm look. The way his eye shine, little creases by his eyes, always makes Neva blush. If they weren’t in the forest, Thrain would be questioned from left and right. Anytime the young prince was in Neva’s company in public, there were always whispered. “What is he doing with her? Isn’t she sick? Is that why he’s hanging around?” 

Neva always tried to ignore it, but it never really helped. She even heard one woman say that it was probably because she was loose, which was not true, of course. Anytime that she spoke to Thrain about it, he would cross his arms and give her a huff of disapproval. He always held her for as long as he could afterwards. Telling her that he loved her, and that he would never marry another. It always made her feel…special.

“What’s wrong, love?” Thrain grabs her arm, making her jump in surprise. He gives a small laugh, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “You seem to have something on your mind. Would you like to talk about it, or should I drop the subject entirely?”

Neva lets out a laugh in return, smiling at him genuinely. “Absolutely nothing, love. I’m just so happy that we’re together. You make everything in my life much more bearable.”

Thrain grabs Neva’s hand, kissing her knuckles gently. He places her hand on his cheek, smiling at the touch of her fingers on his warm cheek. “My beautiful dove, have I told you that your beauty outshines even the Ever-Young herself?” He leans cautiously across the gap between them, dropping a chaste kiss on her dark lips.

Neva laughs quietly, kissing him back. “No. But thank you, my King.”

***

“Pass the sauce please!”

“Here you are, Terra.”

The middle child looks up to Neva, stretching her grabby hands for the butter and lemon sauce Bella had prepared for this special meal. She grabs the bowl, quickly pouring some onto her plate. The entire family looks up when they hear her scream.

“Ow! What was that for, Thrain?” She hisses at her eldest brother, about to curse. He had smacked her roughly with his spoon. 

Thrain places one of the handkerchiefs from the table,- all made by Bella herself, -on his lap and started sawing at his fish with a knife. “Maybe you should learn your manners again! I think you have something you need to say to Neva?”

Terra pouts up at Neva with astonishing blue eyes, medium brown curls framing her face. “Thank you, Miss Neva.”

Neva smiles at Terra. “You’re most welcome, Miss Terra.” Terra looks confused again, but laughs afterwards. Neva always loves Terra’s laugh. She’s one of those kids that’s full of adventure, and seemed to have “young child sickness,” despite being almost twenty-four. Terra was the kind of lass that would do everything to annoy her older siblings, just to see a rise out of them. 

Terra also loved to pull pranks, which Neva had figured out earlier. She’d never seen Thrain scold a child until that moment. Neva was loathe to say it, but it was good that he had that side to him. Even before the Prince had started to court her, she knew that he loved children more than life itself.

“The first thing I plan to do when I am King,” Thrain had once said, blowing dandelion fluff out of his face. “Is to buy the orphanages in Dale as well as Erebor, and make sure those children are taken care of. The last thing I want to see is for them to split from their found families because the orphanage can no longer afford to keep them there.”

From that moment on, Neva always called him “The Soft-Hearted King.” She prayed to Mahal every night, hoping that Thrain would never stray from his plan.

Bella had the beans passed to her by Thror, who had mastered the fine art of eating, passing, drinking, and drawing all at the same time. Neva recalls that the last time she was here, Thror had actually put his paintbrush in the wrong cup, and drank paint-tinted ale. Neva had never laughed so hard in her life!

“So Neva, how have your uncles been doing?”

Neva sips her ale, beaming at the woman she calls Queen. “Well, they’ve both been good! Uncle Nori does his errands for the King, Dori bakes and cleans the house as soon as he gets home from court, while Papa writes for his customers. They’re a rather boring bunch in their old age!”

Bella almost spits out her dinner, laughing harder than Neva thought possible. “Oh, excuse me! I was not expecting you to say that about them! Oh my, you really are just like your father.” She gets up from the table, grabbing all the children’s plates. “You all be good and wait for me while I go get the dessert. Thrain, you come help your mother. I’m getting old, you know!” Bella walks out of the room, looking at her eldest before he follows her like a loyal puppy.

If there was one thing that Neva would never understand, it was how Thrain and his Mama could have conversations with one glance. Thrain had told her a while ago that they were very close. He also told her that when he was going through his melancholy, it was Bella and the children who kept him going. To Neva’s absolute shock, she found out that the rumors of the prince being in a healer’s care for unknown reasons were fact. At a particularly low point, Thrain had self-inflicted wounds all along his arms and legs. 

Thrain was found by Thorin, who had luckily kicked in the door just after Thrain had cut himself too deep and nearly bled out. “Supposedly, my father never looked so scared in his life. From what my mother told me, he scooped me up and got to the healer all within ten minutes. They stopped the bleeding, and told Father and Mama to keep an eye on me...”

Neva’s thoughts halted when she felt something hit her chest. She looked down, seeing potatoes all over her father’s old tunic. Looking back up, she knew who the culprit was immediately. Neva was about to speak up when she felt some peas hit her, snickers coming from all around the table.

“Why Neva, don’t you look beautiful!” Terra smirks at her, not thinking that she’ll retaliate. Unfortunately, she’s very wrong. Neva grabs some of the butter and lemon sauce, dumping the rest over Terra’s head.

“You look beautiful as well, Terra!” Neva knows that this means war. She as well as Terra start throwing food at Thror, who throws food back at them, as well as at Willow and Holly. The twins pitch some of their plates in front of Dis, who smiles and joins the rest of the lot. It isn’t long before food is flying from one end of the table to the other. All that can be heard is the children’s laughs, screams, and even dares to hit each other. But all of that comes to a vicious stop, when they hear a familiar man screaming at the top of his lungs. 

“ _Stop this, now!_ ” Thrain storms down the corridor, looking ready to punish the whole room. “Look at what you’ve done to the dining room! It’s a horrible mess! Mother will have a bird when she finds out what you’ve all been doing in here!”

Thrain looks over at Neva, giving even her a glare that makes her feel horrible. All of the children, even Terra, stare down at their feet, feeling bad for the horrible mess they have made. There are potatoes in every single crack. Neva looks back up, seeing Thrain start to clean up the food. “Are you, or are you not, children of the King and Queen Under the Mountain? Because I thought you were, but I suppose I now stand corrected. They would know not to start a food fight,” Thrain throws the food in his hand at Neva, hitting her in the arm. “Without the next heir!”

The children erupt, starting up again as if they’d never stopped. In fact, the food might even be flying much faster! Neva ducks under the table, trying to snag a handkerchief off the edge of it. She nearly had it, when she noticed it slip from her fingers. Neva curses silently, wishing that she had one of those for herself. She nearly was scared out of her skin, when Thrain quickly ducked under the table with her.

“Hello, love! I see that you need this?” Thrain asks, waving the red handkerchief around in his hands. “All I could see was your hand ghosting around the table.”

Without a thought, Thrain starts to clean off her face. He goes as far as her collarbone, before giving the handkerchief back, face turning bright red.

Neva looks down at herself, knowing that he was making sure not to touch her in any way that would compromise her virtue. Neva pecks quickly on his cheek, turning him red once more. It did not last long. Thrain grabs her hand, the smile on his face making her feel weak. She can’t help but to grab the collar of his shirt and kiss him quite roughly. 

“Neva, love!” Thrain seems to be having trouble breathing, since his chest heaves by the time her hand ghosts over his collarbone. “The children don’t really know about us!” Neva watches as his hands started to flail, speech becoming almost inaudible as he talks faster and faster.”I mean, they always ask me, and I always refrain from answering. Though I know Amara knows that we are,-” 

Neva knows she has to shut him up. She loves this man as the air she breathes, but sometimes she can’t help but think he needs to stop talking and just act. Neva grabs his hair roughly and pulls him in for another deep kiss. Neva feels the moment he stops caring, noticing that his wildly moving hands still, resting themselves on the back of her neck. Thrain pulls away, a brilliant smile on his lips, then glancing at the floor and biting his lower lip. 

Neva stares at him, bright red with embarrassment and arousal. “Thrain, your siblings are in the room!” 

Thrain gives his lover a reassuring grin. “Neva, I don’t mean our usual activities! I just want to ravage you with kisses.” 

The look on his face is almost too innocent for words. It’s the one most children give their mother when they give her flowers from her flower bed. Neva squeaks, Thrain covering her mouth as he gently pushes her to the floor. She watches in shock as Thrain sits on her lap, lowering himself so he can kiss her. The whole night, all he wanted was to be able to kiss her. He doesn’t care about anything else in that moment, other than Neva’s lips on his own. Thrain places a small peck on Neva’s lips before starting tenderly down her neck. 

Neva could hear him mumbling words, probably sweet things, as he kissed her neck and collarbone. If there was one thing Neva had noticed, it was that Thrain always tried to make sure she knew how much he loved her, as if to clarify that he wants her. She always wondered if it was his way of asking her permission to move forward, but never really knew. 

Suddenly, Neva could hear and see Bella walk into the room. “What in Yavanna’s name made you lot do this? Look at this place!” Neva tries to pull Thrain’s mouth from where it’s getting dangerously close to her chest. He stills, looking at her for a moment, places his finger on her lips as he moves off of her. They both hear Bella ask where Thrain and Neva went before Thrain’s lips are on hers again. And it is in that moment that they hear Bella gasp.

They look up to see the kids staring at them, even Amara, who’s holding the hilt of her sword. The two lovers don’t even notice their lips are still locked. As they both realize, Thrain daringly finishes the kiss. As the smacking noise only lips can make stops, Bella at last speaks up.

“Thrain, Neva...” Bella looks down at the two, seeing their hands interlocked. Her heart almost breaks in two, noticing how scared her son looks. She knows that he just wants her to accept them. Bella knows how hard it is for her son that his father doesn’t accept his love for Ori’s daughter. She already knew that they were together, but Thrain never made a show of actually kissing her when he brought her over. 

Bella crawls under the table, hugging the both of them tightly. “I am so happy that you two found each other. You know, Neva, I was so afraid that my son would never find someone. I was afraid that people would just look at him and not want anything to do with him.” She watched as Neva grips Thrain’s hand tighter, tears threatening to come down. Bella also notices her son is teary-eyed, grinning the widest that she’d seen in years. “But then you came along, and look at him! He hasn’t properly smiled like that since he was a child. I just want you know that I do approve of your courting, and that I thank you so much for bringing my son so much happiness and love.” 

Bella looks over the both of them, seeing them let a few tears fall at her words. They had both been in hiding for so long. The only ones that knew of their coupling seemed to be on opposite sides, saying they should or shouldn’t keep going. Or rather, Thorin said they shouldn’t. It was such a moment of relief for Thrain and Neva, to heard this from their Queen and Mother. Bella’s lips curl into a smile.

“The only thing that I ask, Neva, is that you don’t show up saying that you’re with my son’s child.”

“Mama!”

“I’m just saying! Now, lets get you both out of there. I need your help with bringing out the dishes properly.” 

Thrain and Neva look at the woman in front of them, gaping at her in total worship. They timidly grab each other’s hand, before going to help bring the dessert out for the family. 

Amara watches with her younger brother and sisters, all looking rather confused by the whole scene they’ve just witnessed. “You know, I’m rather disappointed that I didn’t attend dinner after all. Looks like I missed something of an amazing show.” Amara looks over at the rest of the children, before handing all of them cleaning supplies. 

Thror stares blankly at the cloths in his hand. “What do you want us to do with these?”

Amara gives her brother a coy smile before turning to leave. “I’m going to finish my sword sharpening. You all need to take responsibility and clean up your mess!”

“B-but Amara-!”

“No buts! Get to work, everyone. You know how Mama is when things are not clean! The least you could do is clean up the mess that you all made. After all, she is bringing you some lovely dessert.”

And clean they did, for the dining room looked almost as spotless as it did before supper. The dessert was wonderful, as well as the conversations had. If there was one thing everyone noticed, it was how much Thrain and Neva were smiling. They even held hands, not once letting each other go as they ate.

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite chapters to write so far! I'm really happy that you got to learn a little bit more about the other children. The next chapter will be in Thorin's POV! So look out for that, everyone! I hope that you like the newest chapter!


	9. I'm Just Your Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubling back just a little, let’s find out the cause behind Thorin’s disapproval of his son’s romantic choices.
> 
> Second chapter I’ve written that involves Thorin being sentimental while sitting at a desk, then yelling at one of his children. Oops! At least the outcomes are different. Hope you enjoy this one! The next one will contain Dwalin, and that’s all I’m at liberty to say ;)!

Thorin glares at the report in front of him. Perhaps, if he holds it long enough, the paper will confess under the strain that it has lied. That Orcs aren’t seemingly gaining in number and organization, that Theoden’s grip on his throne isn’t weakening, that none of the possibilities are possible and life is all sunshine and rainbows.

Thorin rests his elbows on his desk and rubs his temples. He can make sure the troops are ever-ready and organized. He can hold tight to his alliances. He can put on a brave face and inspire hope in his people. But if the rumours Nori keeps whispering to him are true, none of that will be enough. War and death will find them once more. This isn’t what he wanted when they first took back the Lonely Mountain. All he wished for on the road to Erebor was a homecoming, prosperity, and a chance to marry his Hobbit.

At that thought, Thorin stands abruptly. He marches out of the study and through the family rooms, deaf to the loud protests of his joints and muscles. A pause at the window onto the garden reveals what he seeks. Bella’s silvered curls glow in the noon sun. One hand on a bended knee, the other tugging aggressively at the leaf of a plant as she mutters to herself. Thorin slips out the door, and Bella is off her feet and in his arms before she can even register his presence.

“Put me down! I said put me down!” Bella fights to free herself, only to have Thorin tighten his grip. “And just where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Don’t fuss.” Thorin’s back twinges with every swing of her arms. “I require your company, that is all.”

“So that’s all I am now?” Bella folds her arms, brow furrowing and deepening the lines on her forehead. She somehow manages to remain adorable when irritated, Thorin’s not sure how. “Entertainment to be summoned at the snap of your royal fingers? Try this when I’m working on my book and you just see what happens!”

“I never said anything like that.” Thorin drops into his desk chair, arranging Bella until she’s seated comfortably, facing him. He cups one hand gently under her jaw and kisses her all over her face, ending with a very thorough kiss to her mouth. “And believe me, I know better than to disturb you when you’re writing.”

“Glad to hear you’ve gained some wisdom in your old age.” Bella chuckles and shifts to rest her head on Thorin’s shoulder, coarse silver-streaked hair tickling her nose. Thorin picks up her hand, dropping kisses and raising gooseflesh. “What of today’s news? Good, bad, or indifferent?”

Thorin leans back into the chair and sets his jaw. “Same as usual; increasingly bad.”

Bella sits up, gazing at him with understanding eyes and a gentle touch to his shoulder. “Try not to worry too much. It might get sorted out before it reaches us. If it isn’t sorted, well...”

Thorin drops his eyes from the ceiling to meet hers. “If it doesn’t reach us, I won’t have to worry. If it does, we will either succeed or we will fail. If we succeed, I’ll have no cause to worry. If we fail, I won’t be able to worry. In these circumstances, I need never worry.”

Bella smiles faintly, then kisses him once more, lingering. “Spoken like a true king.”

Thorin rumbles in reply, nuzzling her cheek. “I wonder what Gandalf makes of all this. He hasn’t called on us in what, four years now? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s quite alright. Off peddling his fireworks somewhere.” Bella’s hand instinctively touches her chest, eyes suddenly distant. “I suspect we’ll see him again before too long.”

Thorin rests his gnarled hand over hers. Bella curls against him, familiar hobbit skirts riding up to her knee and spilling over Thorin’s lap. She hums to fill the silence, sounding uneasily off-key. Thorin feels a sting of guilt for bringing his stress upon her. Bella’s instrumentality in the defeat of Smaug, what he did to her before the Battle of the Five Armies, her saving his nephews while he lay close to death; the weight of it all is a debt. Every mistake he makes since adds to it. Anything he does right pays the tiniest bit off.

“Where are the children?” Thorin pecks her cheek, eager to get her mind off the subject. “They must be out, I haven’t heard a single thing shatter since breakfast.”

“Amarantha’s taken that horse of hers for exercise, Thror’s practicing throwing axes with Dwalin...” Bella clicks her tongue repeatedly, searching the window for further answers. “Dis is in the library, Terra’s out with her friends, and the twins are most likely causing trouble somewhere, I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”

“And Frodo?”

“Causing trouble with them, I’m sure.”

“I see. In that case,” Thorin unintentionally pauses. “Could you send for Thrain? If he’s in, I would like to speak with him.”

“He’s in his room, I’ll get him myself.” Bella slips off Thorin’s lap and heads towards the study door.

Thorin grabs her belt and drags her back. “We have servants I pay specifically to do these things. Send for him and stay here a moment.”

“Silly old dwarf.” Bella kisses his forehead at the same time she’s prying his hand off her skirt. “Later, I promise, my company will be yours to command. Right now, I must leave you to undertake the arduous task of walking all the way down the hall.” She smiles and disappears shortly behind the wooden door. Incorrigible little halfling.

Thorin’s gut twists a little and he would fidget if he hadn’t broken that habit so long ago. Thrain, oh, Thrain. Thorin can’t even pretend he doesn’t know where things went wrong between them. He knows exactly: When the Orc pack they’d been tracking turned out to be much larger than originally thought, and his son’s first raid became a full-out skirmish. He’d gotten out of Thorin’s sight for just a moment, and disappeared entirely. They finally found him hours later unconscious, impossibly burned, and bleeding from multiple gashes.

Thorin shudders at the memory, as he’s done at least twice or thrice a day since. The sight of his son’s mangled form half-hidden under a bush. The scent of melted flesh as they hurried him back to Erebor. The moment he finally had to rush out and be sick when the healer was slowly removing Thrain’s devastated left eye. And yet somehow, the worst of it was when Thrain woke up days later and ordered Thorin out of his presence in the clearest and harshest of terms. He’d respected his son’s wishes, only ever visiting Thrain’s room when he was asleep. He stayed out of the boy’s sight until he recovered and could go about under his own power.

Since then, he had only been Father to Thrain, never Papa. His little boy, his heir, his and Bella’s first. Thorin still remembers the care taken with his conception, and the subsequent unending anxiety that preceded the birth of the very first half-hobbit, half-dwarf child. And what a dear little thing he was; overly small, but possessing a large head, thick hair, and wide wooly feet. Thorin had never gotten enough of holding him, the bright child with the kindly disposition and mile-wide smile.

Even if Thrain packs away those traits whenever he sees Thorin, he still carries them.

“Hello, Father.” Thrain closes the door behind him and stands with feet apart, hands behind his back. His tone is cheery rather than aloof, that’s odd. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I’d like to go over today’s report with you.”

“Could it wait just a few moments? I have some exciting news.”

“Oh?” Thorin looks up to see his son rocking on his heels, a grin threatening. “Tell me, then.”

“You know Neva, Ori’s daughter? Of course you do.” Thrain’s words run over each other. His hands flutter about, gestures so similar to his mother’s that’s it’s downright uncanny. “We’ve gotten to be such good friends these past two years. I feel as though I’ve known her all my life. We really understand each other.”

“Right, right. Where are you going with this?”

“Well you see,” Thrain’s shoulders bunch up nearly to his ears. Thorin was sure he’d gotten him to stop doing that when he was still a child. “Neva and I made sure we were absolutely certain, then we spoke to her father. And he gave us permission to officially begin courting! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Thorin sits in silence.

“I know, I know, it seems very sudden.” Thrain rubs his neck, cheeks turning pink. “I didn’t want to mention anything until we were certain of our feelings. And I don’t know how to go about making the formal announcement, or if there’s even a need to do so. You must know, surely?” A pregnant pause. “Father? Are you alright?”

“Thrain,” Thorin covers his eyes with one hand. “You _cannot_ court that girl.”

“...What? Why _not_?”

“First of all, she is ill, and I-”

“Neva is not ill!” Thrain’s shout is sharp and venomous. “Different, yes! But how does being sensitive to the sun and needing a magnifier to read make her unfit to be my potential wife?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Are you going to bar Holly from courting when she’s of age? Her vision’s far worse than Neva’s!”

“Let me finish, child!” Thorin snarls, snatching his hand away and looking at his son properly. “Her skin condition is not that to which I’m referring! If you two are as good friends as you say you are, you’ll have noticed her coughing spells, her moments of weakness. Dori confirmed it to me in private, she’s caught consumption.”

“I am fully aware of that, actually!” Thrain crosses his arms, face contorting in anger.

“But are you fully aware of her prognosis?” Thrain glares right through him, saying nothing. “Ten years at the very outset. You being with her can only end in tragedy.”

“And you expect me to do what, then?” Thrain’s voice matches his white-knuckled grip on his sleeves. “Stop loving her because of something that isn’t even her fault?”

“No! Be friends with her, care for her, just do not court her!” Thorin stands, holding his hands out and palm-up.

“That’s the same thing.” Thrain purposefully takes a step forwards.

“Thrain, listen to me.” Thorin’s voice scratches with frustration. “I’ve seen what grief can do, has done to our family. Please, you’re just a child. Don’t put yourself in this position.”

“I am no _child!_ ” Thrain’s teeth are bared in fury, hands dropping to ball into fists at his sides. “I am a man who should be able to make my own decisions! How in Mahal’s name do you expect me to run a kingdom if I can’t choose my own lover?!”

The report on Thorin’s desk and what it contains suddenly presents itself in his mind and pounds like a headache. “Enough of this! There are more important things to focus on than whose mouth you’re going to stick your tongue in! You will drop this foolish argument and remember your place!”

Thorin turns away from Thrain. He needs to take a breath and count to ten before they even hope to move on. When he reaches three, a bitter laugh echoes behind him. “How dare you think you can tell anyone who to marry? You got hitched to a hobbit, of all things!”

Thorin loses a second to the white haze of anger. In that time, he’s gripped Thrain’s shirt collar tight, has his other hand balled into a fist, and is looming over his much shorter son. “And just who do you think _you_ are? How dare you speak of her with such disrespect! She did more in a year than you’ll do in a lifetime! You spoiled, arrogant little boy!”

Something in Thrain’s eye hardens, in such a way that it subtly frightens Thorin. “So that’s it then? I’m a spoiled, arrogant little boy who doesn’t deserve to be happy?”

“Thrain.” Thorin breathes hard through his nose, relaxing his grip on his shirt. “Thrain, I did not mean it that-”

“How many women do you think will have me? Hm?” Thrain cocks his head to one side, lips curving into a smile that isn’t a smile. “Scarred, one-eyed, scrawny little half-breed with his nose always in a book? You said it yourself that I’m soft, and everyone else feels just the same. I find the one woman who likes- loves me for who I am, and you’re telling me I can’t have her?”

Thorin draws his hands away slowly. “No, Thrain, listen,-”

“If you have such a low opinion of your own flesh and blood, what’s Neva’s list of faults?” Thrain doubles back to the door, his face like ice. “Half-blind, sickly, mixed breed-Oh, there’s a pattern there! Why don’t you go tell your friend that his daughter isn’t good enough for your spoiled brat of a son? I won’t get in your way.”

“ _Thrain!_ ” Thorin bellows, feeling stupidly powerless and drawing a complete blank at what to do. Thrain’s hand slips on the doorknob, and Thorin seizes the moment. “Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re running away again, you’re too old for this!”

“What does it matter to you? Enjoy your fucking mining reports!” Thrain slams the door hard enough to rattle a few quills off Thorin’s desk.

Following him will only make Thrain run farther, as it always has in the past. Thorin stands still for a moment, hands trembling, staring at the door. He returns to his desk at a loss, and sits there staring blankly for many minutes.

At long last, Bella comes in, her silence telling that she heard everything. Thorin doesn’t move, even when Bella comes close and runs her hand through his hair. After several moments of resistance, Thorin leans his head into her stomach and closes his eyes. When Bella starts to sniffle, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist, holding her close and rubbing circles into her back. Nothing is said, because nothing he can say will make anything better.

For the first time in many years, when he trudges to Dwalin’s that night, Thorin feels pathetic. 

**_ FIN _ **


	10. Sometimes I Still Feel The Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We hear what dear old Papa Thorin has to say about all of this, poor Dwalin having to deal with a cranky king. We also hear what Thrain feels, talking to the only other friend he has. Lastly, we hear from the beautiful Bella and the children. This chapter skips from feels to fluff, beware! ;)

Dwalin opens the door, groaning when he looks at who’s standing there. He really does love Thorin with all of his heart, but he knows when he gives him that pathetic kicked-puppy look he’s fought with Thrain. Again. 

“Oh for Mahal’s sake, what happened now?” Thorin pushes his way past Dwalin, sitting down at the table that was barely cleaned from supper. 

Dwalin walks towards his friend, who already had gotten the cups out for them both, and opens the bottle of aged honey mead. Dwalin sits down, feeling his knees starting to disagree with him over the rainy weather outside the mountain.

“So, what’s the matter, old friend? What did you two fools fight about this time?”

Thorin sighs heavily, his hand finding its way through his hair. It must have been bad, because Thorin doesn’t even seem to be bothered by Dwalin’s jibe, and he’s completely ignoring the mead. He must really be miserable. 

“Dwalin, do you know about Thrain and Neva being friends?” Dwalin snorts, making Thorin frown harder.

“Of course I know about that! Good on the boy! He needs to hang around someone other than old men. Though, I guess he was with that ‘Tavor’ fella for a while, wasn’t he? Those boys were really close. I always wondered how they spent so much time with each other and didn’t get sick of it.”

Thorin stares, confused as Dwalin goes on this small rant. “Dwalin, would you shut your mouth for a second? I’m trying to tell you what happened!” 

“Sorry, lad. Please, finish what you were saying.”

“Stop calling me ‘lad!’ For Mahal’s sake, I’m almost an old man now.”

Thorin sigh, drinking some of the mead that he had opened. It was aged perfectly, making him wish there was a bigger bottle around. “I was approached by Thrain today. He told me that Neva and himself were officially starting to court. Trouble is, the girl’s caught consumption. She doesn’t have more than a decade to be with him. And courting is such a long process, she might not make it to a wedding.”

Dwalin gives Thorin a smirk, but it borders on aggravated. “You know, it usually only lasts for about two years. Not seven, like yours. You just were being a stubborn jackass!”

Thorin groans at the older man, gulping more mead and making Dwalin laugh hard. “I don’t see the problem, Thorin. If he wants to court this girl, he should go right ahead.” Thorin is about to burst, but Dwalin holds a hand out. “Let me finish! She may be passing slowly and surely, but Thrain seems to really love this girl. What’s going to do more damage? Him being with her, married, and her passing, or him having to watch her fade away from a distance? He has every right to want to marry and care for her. You would do the exact same if it were Bella.” 

It’s Dwalin’s turn to groan, as Thorin raises his voice and shuts his ears. “I’m trying to protect my son! I watched my grandfather become consumed with the shine of gold! I watched my father lose my mother, then disappear when Azog killed his father! And after what happened, what I very nearly did, I think that I have every right to want to save my son from going mad!” 

Dwalin notices the veins in Thorin’s throat and temples pop as he shouts, his eyes alight with anger. He’s been jabbing Dwalin’s chest the whole time, a dark red spot is starting to form into a bruise. The taller and much older man tries to keep calm, not entirely understanding what both men were fighting about. If they could both just sit down and talk like bloody adults, things wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, he won’t say that now. Thorin isn’t in any mood to listen. 

“Thorin, what’s-”

“He ran away, Dwalin. I thought that he was finally over that phase. I suppose he isn’t!” Dwalin looks down at his oldest friend, feeling miserable as Thorin presses his hands to his eyes. 

Dwalin hadn’t seen him tremble like this since the first time after the fateful Orc raid that Thrain had ran away. The old warrior remembers that Thorin looked practically mad himself as he searched for his son. He had looked in every crack and nook of Erebor, even going into the forest near Dale. The poor lad had been soaking wet, shaking under a tree as he slept. Dwalin still recalls how Dis had to keep her brother calm as he ripped Thrain apart, calling him “selfish” and other such things. The way that Thrain looked over to him, almost asking silently him to hold him. 

“Thorin. I’m sorry that this happened. But I know Thrain, he wouldn’t just leave if you hadn’t said something else. Tell me now, before I find out from the boy and have to throttle you on principle.”

The king breathes in, a long, deep breath before he growls almost too quietly. “I might have called him an arrogant spoiled little boy.” 

Dwalin’s hand presses against the top of his head. He shuts his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “Thorin, you know how he gets when you call him things like that. The boy already thinks that he’s a waste of breath, why would you say something like that?” 

“Dwalin!” Thorin exclaims, his hands flying in the air as his voice gets louder again. “If he says something against my wife and his mother, I should be able to tell him he’s done wrong!”

“Thorin, back up. Thrain would never speak ill of his mother. He thinks the world of her. What exactly did he say?”

Dwalin sighs when Thorin turns his face away from him, looking at the door. As if he was expecting Thrain to suddenly come into the house. “He said that I wasn’t allowed to tell him who to marry, because ‘I married a hobbit of all things!’”

The bald man sighs yet again, feeling he was about to slap the man silly. “Repeat that in your head once more, Thorin. Do you think he might have meant that you, as an heir of the most noble dwarf bloodline, married a hobbit, while he wants to marry a dwarf woman?” 

Thorin was about to speak, one finger in the air, before he seems to understand what Dwalin was saying to him. Thorin groans again, dropping his gaze. “Dwalin, I think I might have fucked this up.” 

Dwalin places a hand on Thorin’s, breathing through his nose to calm down a little. “It’s not just you. Thrain should have used his words, like a grown man. The pair of you need to learn how to talk to each other, without running off and carrying on like children.” 

After that, Thorin sat there, relatively quiet unless his friend pushed him into talking. Dwalin wasn’t mad about that. In fact, he knew that was how it was going to be. When Thorin and Thrain got into a fight, and Thorin figured out if it was his fault or his son’s, the conversation would turn quiet as he turned everything over in his mind. They both sat for quite some time, before Dwalin gave Thorin a farewell hug, a habit he’d taken up after the Battle of the Five Armies.

“Dwalin, I just want to...thank you for dealing with me. I know it isn’t much fun, but it’s necessary. Until I get my son to be my son again, until I stop bungling things between us.”

Dwalin hugs Thorin tighter. “Your son loves you. I think you just need to remember that he thinks more like Bella than like you. After all, he’s always seemed more hobbit than dwarf...” 

***

Thrain strides down the marketway, taking a sharp turn. What people had been near him fled quickly, fearing the worst. He knows he has an expression daring anyone with a deathwish to come closer. Thrain felt horrible for making them feel like that, but at the moment, he wasn’t in the mood to care. How dare his father say no to his courting of Neva? He’s never asked his father for anything before. Now here he was, requesting one inconsequential thing, and he’s turned down so reprehensibly! For once, could his father be proud of him for something? Maybe it was because Thrain wasn’t a certain princess, who always got what she wanted. 

As Thrain knocks on Tavor’s door, he scolds himself for thinking so horribly of Amara. As much as he’s angry and jealous of her relationship with their father, he knows that it is no reason for him to think such things about her. 

Tavor opens the door, about to speak, but instead lets Thrain right into the house. He was always good at noticing when Thrain was upset. Tavor takes Thrain’s hand away, his nails having dug into his other wrist. Tavor sighs when he sees deep, crescent dents in Thrain’s wrist, and some small amount of bleeding. 

“Thrain, did you fight with your father again?” 

Thrain took a moment to answer, slipping off his boots and his father’s old travelling coat in the process. “...Yes. I’ll tell you about it when we get upstairs. But if I may ask, could you brew some-”

“It’s already on. I saw you charging down the street, so I knew to get the kettle. You still like chamomile, right?”

Thrain smiles up at the younger man, focusing on his dark yellow hair and hazel eyes. He noticed that his long beard was being held up with a new braid clasp. For taking his spot in the family jewelry business, Thrain guesses. “With two sugar! Don’t forget the sugar!”

Both men look up at each other as they laugh hard. Thrain is led up the stairs from the shop front, towards the warm light that’s greeting him in the apartment. 

“...Wait, so let me get this right. Your father told you that you weren’t allowed to court Neva, because she’s ill? And you only ran away because he called you an arrogant, spoiled little boy?”

Thrain stirs his tea, dropping the sugar cubes inside as he crosses his legs. “Yes, exactly! He thinks so little of me, but he thinks even less of Neva! The poor girl hasn’t even done anything to earn such a poor judgment from him! But of course, Father seems to be his usual ill-tempered self! I swear, sometimes I think he has a spear shoved up his ass!”

Tavor can’t help but laugh at the prince, stirring his tea in such a frenzy that his foot starts to vibrate under the table. Sometimes, he thinks that the boy isn’t capable of sitting still for a minute. He’s always on the move. No less, he needs to help his friend with this as much as he can. 

Tavor places a hand over Thrain’s, making him look up with a blush creeping over his cheeks. It has been quite a while since- No, Thrain. Don’t think about that. It only ends poorly.

“I know that you are distressed, but I’m sure there’s a reason-”

“Tavor, this is the same man that spared no time to visit me after the Orc raid! I don’t even understand why I still love him as much as I do!”

Tavor lets out a sigh, squeezing Thrain’s hand tighter. “To be fair, you don’t know that for sure. You said yourself that you barely remember half of that year. Maybe he did, and you just can’t remember because of the stuff they gave you for the pain?”

The prince takes the teacup in one hand, sipping on it with his pinky stuck out. Thrain really was a hobbit in most ways, especially when it came to tea and food intake. He nibbles at the tea biscuit, chewing and swallowing as he speaks. “Tavor, I just don’t see that happening. If he did, why would he stop? I was in bed and clear-headed for another six months after that, and he never came! And the way that he treats me now, like I’m a waste of his valuable air. Like my happiness takes away from his, and I ought to give it back.” 

Thrain chews angrily on his biscuit, finishing it in two more bites. He starts to get up, to put his plate away, before Tavor takes it from him and makes him sit back down. “Thank you, my friend. I really hope that you find someone soon, because anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

Tavor tuts at Thrain, making him continue. “You know, my sisters are all free! You should wed one of them! I think that you would really like little Dis! She is very smart, quiet, and exceptionally beautiful. You two would have stunning children!” 

Tavor smacks Thrain upside the head on his way to the kitchen, making the older man laugh at him. “Have you had anything for dinner? Or have you just been storming around again?” 

Thrain glances backwards to steal a look at Tavor, who is blushing slightly at Thrain’s remark. “Well, I would set you up with the eldest, Amara, but I think she would beat you into the ground using her voice alone! I swear, it’s going to take one brave man to calm her high-strung self down.”

“Thrain, give your sister some credit! She seems to be, from what I’ve seen, a very nice girl who just keeps her heart under close watch.” 

Thrain smiles at the young man, fixing up two steaks and some potatoes for them to eat. The prince gets out of his chair, taking out one of his clean hunting knives to start peeling potatoes with his dear friend. They stand there in silence for quite some time, then Tavor sighs sweetly, hearing Thrain’s beautiful voice for the first time in a while. His voice is always so soothing, filling up the whole room as he goes on. 

As well as being a scholar of Mahal, Thrain is nothing short of a musical marvel. If you gave him a random instrument and a few hours, he could play it as if he had been for years. Tavor had heard of dwarf lords coming to visit Erebor, and Thrain would charm them with his harp playing, giving a piece of his heart with his music. Tavor still remembers the first time that Thrain had played the harp for him. He played a lullaby that his mother had used to sing to him to sleep. Thrain had said it was a Shire harvest song that made him feel better when he was feeling truly awful. 

Those days had so hard for the young prince, from what Tavor had gathered. His father not visiting him once, and all the other difficulties that came with recovering from such severe wounds. That, along with meeting someone who was...very bad for his health. There were also times, afterwards, where he had intentionally hurt himself. Even right now, there are scars all over his body that are self-inflicted. In Tavor’s opinion, that was too many bad things in one life, and they needed to be replaced with happier things. 

Tavor hadn’t even noticed Thrain had stopped singing until he felt a hand on his. “Tavor, what’s wrong? Was my song bringing back some memories? I can leave if you-” 

“No, no, please stay! I was just praying that things get better between your father and yourself. I hate seeing you like this. You need him, in the same way he needs you.” 

Thrain looks up at the slightly taller boy, feeling his heart swell from Tavor’s words. He smiles wide. “Tavor, how would I have gotten on if we had never been lovers?”

Tavor only smiles down at him. He laughs as he begins frying the steaks in a pan over the burgeoning fire, putting the beautifully cut potatoes into a pot. “Frankly, I don’t want to think about such things. Thrain, please pour us some more tea, and I will try my best to help you sort through this problem you have with your father.”

Thrain laughs quietly, pouring the tea as he brings it back to the table. He knew that Tavor hates discussing the past, but there are times when Thrain needs to let Tavor know just how much he helped him. Aas he was trying to say, he would probably be dead if it weren’t for this man. He guided him out of the darkness, just like the Northern Star. 

That was always how it was. Thrain was the songbird to Tavor’s star. And that was the way it would stay.

***

The queen paces from one end of the study to another, wondering if her son really did run away. She hoped that wasn't the case, for the sake of her husband’s nerves, as well as the childrens’ and her own. She still remembers the times he’d run away for days on end, coming home looking like a vagrant. If there was one thing Bella found solace in, was that he always made sure the kingdom didn’t suffer from his actions. All important documents under his charge were handed in long before their deadline, in perfect condition. 

Bella pads into the corridor, peering slightly over the railing and down at the galleries below her. She watched as a young woman and her husband walked with their children, all looking happy. Her own family was usually just like them, but there were times when the house would be tense from Thrain and his father arguing. It was one of the only things that she wishes would change. Bella knows they are both in the wrong, both being slightly thick-headed. After all, Thrain was still part dwarf, and that meant pride issues. Bella chuckles at the thought. 

Neither man noticed how alike they really were. There were times where Bella could see her husband in her son’s eye, and the other way round. Thrain was more hobbit, that she freely admits. There is a brave and fiercely kind soul under the rough exterior. Both men have gone through their own trials in life, though she wasn’t pleased at how early Thrain had to suffer his. She only wished with all her heart that the boys would talk things out like the adults they both are now. 

The beautiful old hobbit found herself back inside, sitting by her fireplace and looking at the portraits of her children, drawn by Ori himself. All of her children were beautiful. Absolutely stunning little dears, filled with all the happiness and love their parents could bestow on them. Of course, Thrain being the first child, a number of mistakes had been made.

If there was one Bella would never forget, it would be when Thrain found a certain ring she’d placed on her bedside table at around four years old. Bella had come in from her bath, only to realize that her son was nowhere to be found. Thorin had newborn Amarantha in his arms, shouting Thrain’s name in an attempt to get him to come out of his hiding spot. It wasn’t until they heard a deafening scream, followed by furious crying that they found him in their room. He was holding onto the ring tightly, babbling to it. To this day, that was the only time that Bella had hit her eldest child. It was Mama’s ring, and he didn’t need to be touching it. It was her ring, her precious ring... 

From then on, Thrain would barely get any proper sleep, even breaking out of his room and walking in his sleep. When you tried to wake him, he would scream that there were tall, dark men coming to get him. Sometimes, he would hold onto certain parts of himself, complaining that they had hurt him. 

Bella hadn’t noticed that she was gripping the ring tightly in her hand, stroking it lovingly. She hears footsteps outside in the hall. Heavy boots, slightly shorter gait than her husband- Thrain! She releases the ring completely, letting it fall back onto her collar bone as she runs into the corridor. Her arms wrap around the figure, nuzzling into the scent of lavender and pipeweed. It really was Thrain. 

“Oh, love, I’m so glad you didn’t run off! I was so afraid that I’d lost you for a few days again!” 

Thrain chuckles, hugging his sweet mother tightly into his chest. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to worry you. I want to apologize for my behavior. I didn’t mean to insult you during my argument with Father. I was only trying to make a point to him that-”

Bella pulls her son down, resting her forehead on his in a now-familiar gesture. Her hands find themselves in his hair, fingers twirling in tight curls. “I know, dear. I know. But I think you need to say something to him about that. We both know that he took it entirely wrong.” 

Thrain is about to answer his Mama when the children stick their heads out from the old playroom, only to rush to their older brother. The twins arrive first, Willow holding Holly’s hand as she hugs him tightly.

“Brother! We thought you’d run away from us again!” Willow said with a wide smile, looking so much like her mother in that instant, despite her beard. Holly holds onto Thrain’s cheeks, pulling him nearly nose-to-nose so she can see his face. 

“Hello, Holly my love! I’m sure you have a thing or two to say?”

“You know I do!” Holly huffs, then smiles as they both giggle. “I know Papa already said so, because believe us, we heard you.” She places a peck on his nose, making Thrain wipe at the ticklish feeling. She laughs low in her belly, looking more like his father. “But if we’re too old to be running away, then you are far too old!” 

Both girls laugh at Thrain, who is groaning uneasily even as he rolls his eyes. The others quickly file out and surround their older brother like a deer herd. Thror has multi-coloured hands, as well a few spots of brilliant blues and yellows on his face. Thrain figures out the paint is still wet when he gets a streak under his mouth, going through his beard. They all laughed, as Thrain wiped at it, while swatting his brother on the shoulder. After kissing every single one of his siblings and giving hugs, despite numerous protests, he excuses himself to his room. The children take it time to sit and talk awhile before retiring for the night as well. 

“You know, I am happy that he didn’t decide to stay out for long. You know how Mama and Papa get when he does that.” Thror says in a hushed tone, making sure his mother didn’t hear him. 

Terra looks up at him, laughing on the other side of the lounge chair. “Yeah, cranky! I really wish Thrain would stop pissing Papa off, for once. Because in the end, who gets the brunt of it? Us!” The middle child starts fiddling with Dis’ hair as she’s reading, causing her to swat hard at Terra’s hand. They’re all rather shocked when their usually quiet sister chimes in, giving Terra a dangerously flippant look.

“You know, I can see why Thrain was so upset.” Dis’ already deep voice hums, before she pauses to blow an escaped dark curl away from her face. “Neva is a wonderful woman. She’s highly educated, especially considering that she’s self-taught. Of course, I can also see Papa’s side of things. He doesn’t want Thrain to hurt when Neva passes away. They both have thick heads. If they can talk like adults for five minutes, then things will be better between them. They simply need to realize that and put that plan into action!”

They all look at eachother, then back at their sister. Everyone agrees that she’s right, Terra giving her sister an extra pinch as her way of concurring. Of course, Terra wasn’t laughing long, when Dis swatted her hard with her book. “You know, Terra, books are a wondrous thing! They can be used for many things, such as learning, writing, and smacking annoying sisters! Maybe you should pick up one and stop being such a nuisance!” 

The children all laugh at that, even Terra, before starting to disperse to their rooms for the night. Thror stays behind, finishing up his painting. Little did they know, Thror had been painting a picture of his brother, finishing up the final touches on his eye. Dis peers over his shoulder, making him blush at being found out. 

“You know, that looks just like him, Thror!” She sets one hand on his shoulder, before kissing the top of his head. “Would you like to work on it in my room while I read more of my book? I’m just getting to a good part and I don’t want to sleep yet!”

Thror laughs, picking up his easel and board, careful not to smudge the wet paint. His younger sister brought his pigments, water, and oil to the room beside Thror’s. The pair chatted as they finished the book filled with adventure and a dash of romance, and the painting of their gentle-hearted brother, who had a temper when you awoke that angry dragon inside of him. But why else had they always made him play Smaug when as children, they pretended to take back Erebor? 

**FIN ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all love this chapter! I would have had it up sooner, if it weren't for the fact that I seemed to only want to write porn... ;P Hope you can all forgive me!


	11. Sibling Banter and Such

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the older Durin siblings have a lot of speaking lines, some cute things happen, and a few things are (hopefully) subtly revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Och, this chapter fought me so hard, but it's finally done :D! Couple things to say about it: 
> 
> 1) Once again, I did my math wrong in an earlier chapter. Oin would not have delivered Willow and Holly because he, as well as Balin and a few others, would have left for Moria some time ago. My bad, I will go back and amend that later. (In this AU, Ori did not go with them because he has a child to care for, another scribe went in his place).   
> 2) I keep mentioning Amara's unusual voice, so I thought I'd let ya'll in on a headcanon: Take Alan Rickman's voice, feminize it only very, very, VERY slightly, and add the tiniest touch of Scottish cadence. That's what she sounds like.   
> 3) I probably should have put this in way earlier, but this is the metric we're using for dwarf ages: http://axebow.lcwsites.net/archive/0/comparativeages.html

“What about this one?”

“It will clash too much with her outfits.”

“How will it clash? It’s blue! More than half of Terra’s clothes are blue!”

“Actually it’s green.” Thrain pushes the hand holding the gem-encrusted bracelet away from his face. “You want something in a warm colour, so it will stand out without overdoing it. Something that will bring out her hair, perhaps.”

“You’re being absurd.” Amara glowers at Thrain, then at the table of jewellery beside her. “Is he not being absurd?”

“Actually, he’s right for once.” Thror snaps out of his daze, running an idle thumb over a set of silver beads. “Orange would be best.”

“If you two know so much, why don’t you pick something out?” Amara sets the bracelet down stiffly, annoyed but not wanting to damage it. The black-haired shopkeep eyes the trio quizzically, inching his stool back a touch.

“I already got her birthday gift. It’s not that difficult.” Thrain tacks on a smirk just to see Amara’s pointed ears turn red.

“Who decided we should give gifts at birthdays anyways? I bet they didn’t have six siblings plus an extended family. Too much fuss!” Amara snorts, picking up a cuff embedded with sunstones. “I suppose this will have to do.”

The cuff is paid for, tucked into one of Amara’s many hidden pockets, and the three exit the jeweller’s stall. They squint in the bright daylight of Dale’s main thoroughfare. A feast of colour and detail, with stalls are pressed up against one another like books on their mother’s shelf. Most of the crowd has disappeared to take in the noontime meal, but there’s still many dwarves and men milling about. Tomorrow is the day of rest and all are eager to finish their errands. Especially on such a mild spring afternoon.

“That just leaves you, Thror.” Thrain prods his brother with his elbow. “Do you know what you’re getting Terra?”

“It should be right around here, somewhere...There!” Thror hustles across to a small, nondescript stall. Thrain and Amara watch him go. He’s hurrying back before they can follow, with a pronounced lump in the front of his coat.

“A spool of nice wool, something she can practice with.” Thror proclaims, hurrying ahead and encouraging the others to follow. “I do hope she sticks with this craft, I’m starting to lose track.”

“She’s switched ten times, now.” Thrain nibbles on the inside of his cheek. “In half as many years. Even Father’s starting to lose his patience for it. There’s testing the waters, and then there’s being capricious.”

“If Papa doesn’t smack her soon, I’ll do it myself.” Amara tugs at Thror’s coat, trying to catch a glimpse of the gift and ignoring Thrain’s frown. “You were in and out awful quick, why didn’t you haggle?”

“I hate doing that, it’s not worth the time.”

“Some dwarf you are!” Amara sneers down at him.

“Says the one with no beard!” Thror sneers back, catching hold of her tunic.

“Why, you-!”

“ _Hey!_ ” Thrain stops short and shoves between them, prying their hands off each other. “Thror, apologize to your sister!”

“But she started it!” Thror’s childish pout is nearly lost behind his beard.

“I don’t care who started it, I’m going to end it! Apologize! Both of you!” Thrain’s voice is firm, drawing the attention of passerby. His siblings flush at the unwanted attention.

“I’m sorry, sister.” Thror mutters, crossing his arms

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Amara glares sideways at Thrain.

“That’s better.” Thrain wraps his arms tightly around their shoulders, with some difficulty as they both surpass him in height. “Can’t we have one outing where we just have fun?”

“What are you talking about?” Amara scoffs.

“Yeah!” Thror tries to wiggle out of Thrain’s grasp. “We have fun all the time!”

“I mean with no ale involved.”

“Oh,” the pair grunts in unison. Thrain sighs, squeezing their arms before letting go and directing them to the bakery.

The remainder of the errands are completed with a little difficulty. The afternoon crowds eventually fill the streets until walking is like wading through viscous mud. Amara’s expert eye locates a small empty space along the wall of a large granary for them to stand still a moment. They face each other in a tight triangle, purchases balanced on their feet. They go over the list, written in rapid scrawl, atypical of their mother’s usual writing. Once they’re quite certain they have everything, they linger. Thror leans his back into the stone bricks, Amara and Thrain prop their palms against it. Motivation to press into that sweaty, slow-moving crowd is difficult to dredge up.

“That’s right!” Amara says suddenly, straightening up a little. “I wanted to get my sword sharpened while we’re down here and forgot all about it.”

“Fine time to remember that,” Thror groans. “If I don’t sit down and eat something in the next ten minutes I’m going to fall over.”

“You and your Hobbit appetite, always causing trouble!” Amara clicks her tongue at him.

“Excuse me, since when am I ‘always causing trouble?’” Thror folds his arms, not helping his case whatsoever.

“Well, you’re whining right now.”

“We’ve been out here for hours, I’m hungry. That’s hardly grounds for branding me a troublemaker.”

“Oh, but you always have been one!” Thrain sing-songs, jabbing insistently at Thror’s shoulder. “From the very moment you were born! I remember, you broke your collarbone on the way out.”

"It's not as if I did that on purpose!” Thror cools his tone, catching on to their attempt to wind him up. “I think the blame for that incident lies with the midwife, thank you very much."

"Now don't you say that! Oin was a good man!"

“‘Was?’” Amara’s voice grates on the word, eyes narrowing. “He’s not dead, he’s in Moria!” Thrain opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly. The air grown suddenly tense. “Papa said to me just the other day that he’s sure they’re all doing perfectly fine! What, do you want them to waste time setting up a mail route?”

“Of course not,” Thrain says on a gusty sigh. “Anyways, it must be said: Thror, you were one fat baby. That broken collarbone was purely your fault.”

“I’ve seen a sketch Ori did of you,” Amara chimes in, brightening up. “I can vouch for that.”

Thror sets his teeth on edge, shoulders grinding against the stone. “Get bent, the pair of you.”

The older siblings cackle in victorious union, Thror makes a disgusted noise. Amara sorts out the packages at their feet, still snickering, tucks a parcel of her own under her arm, and holds out her hand. “I’ll take anything you two want sharpened with me. Go on and feed yourselves, I’ll catch up with you at home.”

Thrain pulls out a few of his knives and hands them over, along with a gold coin. Amara secures them on her person, then juts her chin out at her younger brother. “I think your axe is due for it, Thror.”

“I’ll have it done when I get my next allowance.” Thror says briskly, picking at his nails.

“You blew through this month’s already? How do you go through paints so quickly?”

“I work hard! You should be proud.”

“I am, but Mister Dwalin won’t be if he catches you with a blunted axe.” Amara grabs at the weapon strapped to Thror’s side. “Give it here, I’ll pay for it.”

“No!” Thror smacks her hand away. “Leave me be, won’t you? You’re so embarrassing!”

“Just give it, you little brat!”

“No! I said,-!”

“Thror!” Thrain cuts in over their squabbling. “Indulge her sisterly instincts, won’t you? She’s just showing her _looove._ ”

Thror grins, mirroring his brother. He happily presses the handle of the axe into his sister’s hand. “Here you go, Amarantha _dearest!_ So very kind of you! Give us a kiss!”

“Off!” Amara holds the axe a safe distance back, using her parcel to push away Thror’s puckered face. “I said, shove off! You two will put me in an early grave, honestly!”

Amara storms off in a fiery huff. Thrain and Thror shake hands before they gather up their things. They once made a pact that if teasing their strong-willed sister ever ceased to be fun, they would eat each other’s scarves. Seems they wouldn’t be dining on wool any time soon

“Do you want to grab a tart from that bakery?” Thrain points to the one with flowers growing out front, stuffing a few parcels into the leather bag on his side. “It’s my treat, but I have to run an errand. I won’t be long, just wait for me by the ponies.”

“An ‘errand,’ is that what they’re calling it now?” Thror smirks, slipping purchases into his own satchel. “Fine then, ply me with sweets and abandon me for a pair of pretty eyes. I see how it is. I’ll cope, somehow I’ll find a way.”

“You twit!” Thrain wraps an arm up around his brother’s neck, pulling him down to ruffle his hair until he laughs and jerks away. “You’re lucky I tolerate you as much as I do.”

“Aw, I tolerate you too.”

* * *

Thrain strides down the winding path to Ori’s house, shoving the sticky pastries in his mouth all the way. His fingers are too messy to check right now, so he can only hope the letter is still safe in his pocket. He checked two or three times while watching Amara hem and haw over jewels. The stately home comes into sight. Thrain’s suddenly self-conscious and stashes the empty paper wrappers in a shrub. He’s been taught better than that, but hopefully some passing animal will find it edible.

At the door, he thoroughly licks his fingers clean before knocking. Ori answers a moment later, bright smile lighting up his face. “Hello, Thrain! You’re here for Neva, I assume?”

“Yes, only for a moment. I have something for her.” Thrain steps inside when Ori waves him in, making sure to scrape his boots clean. “Are you well, Master Ori?”

“Yes I am, thank you. I presume you’re as well as you were the day before yesterday.” Ori says warmly, scratching at a bit of dried ink in his beard. “She’s upstairs, first door on the left. Go right ahead.”

“Thank you very much.” Thrain ducks his head and heads up the stairs. The sitting room comes into full view a third of the way up. Court was not held today, so Minister Dori’s seated in an armchair pushed close to the low fire, directly beneath the portrait of Neva’s mother.

Thrain waves silently, catching Dori’s attention. He has a cup of chamomile to his lips, so he simply stares and waves curtly with the hand holding the saucer. Thrain hears him nattering at Ori before he’s even reached the upper floor, but only shakes his head, smiling.

The door to Neva’s room is wide open. Thrain sticks his head tentatively inside, finds it empty, and steps right in. She must be in the lavatory, he can wait for her here.

The room is quite spacious and comfortable. A plush seat spans the entire length of the large window to his left, banked by shut, thin velvet curtains. Directly in front of him is a pair of rather large doors, covered in girlish ornamental carvings, and leading to her wardrobe, Thrain is reasonably sure. A warm-looking bed takes up the right corner, made but with a Neva-shaped imprint on the top covers and pillows. Every available space on and along the walls, even up to the ceiling, is taken up by shelves and tables of all different styles. A few candles and many, many books, so many they spill onto the floor. Not to mention a seemingly infinite variety of curious objects. Shells, tiny statues, ceramics, rock specimens, and things for which there is no category. All lovingly arranged and free of dust.

Neva still has yet to return when Thrain’s eye lands on a book laying open, face-down on her nightstand. Her glass magnifier lays next to the dent in the sheets, she must have been reading in bed. For curiosity’s sake, and for lack of anything better to do, Thrain picks up the tome. He reads the same page his love was on mere moments ago, and finds-

A lady being well and thoroughly ravished in the back of a carriage.

Thrain takes care to set the book in the exact same place it was left, not a smidge out of order. He really ought not be as embarrassed as he is, sex is hardly a new subject to him. Besides, he has a few similar selections tucked away in his own room. He’d purchased them a week before Neva’s fortieth birthday, when anticipation was stirring nerves in his gut, as “research.” Though in the end, they proved quite unhelpful in that area. He’d had to swallow every ounce of his pride and turn to Fili and Kili..

They had tormented him all the way through the discussion, but promised to keep his secret. So long as he promised not to conceive any children before marriage vows were said. Thrain readily agreed, he knew at least how to avoid _that_. It wasn’t his intention to put the young woman in an unfortunate position, or lose the respect of her father and uncles. He only desired to use the privacy the woods, or a remote palace closet, to press against her beautiful body and show-

A soft pair of lips press against Thrain’s cheek and he twitches halfway into a fighting stance before his brain catches up with him. Neva giggles, beaming at him from over his shoulder. “Hello, my dear! I heard you come in, sorry to make you wait. Any reason you’re staring so intently at my wall?”

“No, no reason.” Thrain turns and slides his arms around her. He kisses her deeply and she returns with interest. After several long, splendid moments, he turns his attentions to her cheeks and nose.

“Don’t! You’ll make me all blotchy!” Neva laughs into his beard. “I have to go see the healer in an hour!”

“The healer? What for? Are you alright?”

“Just the same as I always am,” Neva suppresses two wet coughs, as if to punctuate. “It’s simply a check-up, and to see if she’s come across any new medicines.”

“That’s good. I’m sure she’ll find something.” The growing tensions far to the South and elsewhere were already beginning to cause scarcities. Rare medicines were some of the first to go. Thrain tried to push it out of his mind, but it always riled up such anger in him. Piss on what his father or anyone said about Neva’s life expectancy, a cure was out there somewhere. It was only a matter of time before they found it.

Time, unfortunately, being the key word. As she pulled him down for more kisses, he could not help but notice her porcelain skin had greyed significantly over the past two years. The ever-present redness around her eyes. The thinning of her figure, the easily provoked and harsh coughing jags, the occasional days in bed depending on the weather. All of it is obvious but Thrain shuts his eyes to it. Neva will not fall prey to mere sickness, it will not be so.

“You said you had something for me?” Neva runs her fingers over one strap of his eyepatch, coming to rest behind his ear.

“I do indeed.” Thrain smiles, stepping back just enough to reach inside his father’s old coat. He produces several pieces of parchment folded delicately into an envelope, and gently slips it into her hand. “Hopefully this will suffice until we can see each other again.”

“Oh, I’ll manage somehow,” Neva teases, kissing Thrain on the nose. “I have something for you too!” She pulls a similar envelope from her hip pocket and gives it to Thrain. It’s several pages thicker, he notices as he turns it over in his hand.

“Are you trying to make me feel inadequate?”

Neva pinches his cheek hard. “You silly boy! I had a burst of inspiration last night, you should appreciate it! You know how hard it is for me to write by candlelight.”

“I do.” Thrain embraces her again, kissing her forehead softly. “I ought to get going before Master Dori gets suspicious. And I’ve left Thror waiting besides. I’ll come for a proper visit in three days’ time, barring minor disaster. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. You take care of yourself, too!” Neva’s lips steal his for a sweet moment. “I love you to the moon and back.”

“To the moon and back.” Thrain gives her one last kiss before turning and stepping lightly down the hall.

The letter is tucked safely away, but the length of his visit and the certainly ridiculous grin that must be playing on his face adds up to Dori giving Thrain the hairy eyeball when he comes into sight. Thrain’s known Dori far too long and too well to mind. He steps into the sitting room and leans politely on the door frame. “Are you feeling quite alright, Master Dori?”

“I’m fine. It’s been a busy week, and my bones are paying the price.” Dori holds his glare at Thrain the way an acrobat holds their balance. Ori can be heard clattering around in the kitchen.

“I could get you something to help, if you’d like. I’m on a market run today, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

Dori’s expression softens instantly, though his brows remain scrunched. “Thank you kindly, but Nori came home today and brought me something already. You’d best be on your way, don’t want to leave your mother waiting too long.”

Thrain chuckles and says his goodbyes on the way out. He makes a mental note that he must find a well-made saddle in time for Dori’s next birthday. The near-daily rides back and forth to Erebor were starting to wear on him greatly, but Dori would retire rather than leave his little brother. And Ori had made it quite clear that nothing could ever make him leave his wife’s house.

* * *

As it turns out, tart was the word of the day-No, Thrain. That’s unkind. Don’t think such unkind thoughts.

Thrain had once again made the grave error of being alone with Thror anywhere. He returned to the pony hitching posts and found young ladies flocking to his younger brother like thirsty travellers to a fresh spring. Their eyes followed Thror as they trotted away, giggles bubbling in his wake. Daughters sweeping their parents’ shopfronts greeted him properly, cheeks flushing as they did. A few dared to flirt outright, drawing the silent ire of their shyer peers.

Thrain couldn’t blame them. Not anymore, at least. Now that he had someone who loved him, it was easier to accept his brother’s popularity. Thror was, after all, a fine specimen of a dwarf. Powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Features so supposedly reminiscent of his namesake that some found it truly eerie. Flowing curly hair and an already splendid beard, both the honey brown of their mother’s side. Curving smile, glinting grey-blue eyes, massive hands. And to top it all off, he was a proficient warrior and already well-advanced in his craft.

His only flaw (from a girl’s perspective, that is, Thrain could name several others) was that he was utterly and hopelessly oblivious to the attention he received.

Thrain had initially believed it to be an act. But a few probing yet discreet questions had revealed that Thror really did pay it no heed whatsoever. He returned blatant attempts at wooing with the usual pleasantries, wholeheartedly believing them to be nothing more. He’d sooner be making eyes at a jar of red ochre. Not that Thrain was particularly eager for the thirty-three-year-old to turn into some kind of philanderer, but honestly, how thick can you be?

Irritating as his popularity had been earlier, it is Thror’s room Thrain’s padding barefoot towards some time after midnight. He’s still heady with the scent of Neva’s perfume that permeated her lengthy and loving letter. He was happily informed all about the novel she was reading, the grand scarf her and Ori were making, ideas for his next visit, and a few other things. But it was solid, in-person companionship he desired now.

Thrain twists the broad, shiny doorknob, throwing open the door to his brother’s room with a flick of his wrist. Thror’s bed is against the wall nearest the door, and he’s sitting against the headboard. Clad only in woolen britches, tremendously large sketchbook spread over his crossed legs, and a quill pinched between his teeth, which he grunts around as Thrain shuts the door and approaches the bed.

“You were in here last night,” Thror says. Spitting out the quill after he finishes smoothing the pages enough that they lay flat. “And the night before, isn’t it Frodo’s turn?”

“I checked, he’s already asleep.” Thrain crawls up beside his brother, nightshirt catching at his knees.

“Ah, well, it’s not like you’re keeping me awake.” Thror dips his quill in a pot of ink, balanced precariously in a knot of sheets on his opposite side. He scratches lines quickly across the page, shaping them into rough images of dwarves and letters and half-pictoral notes that must be a kind of artistic shorthand.

“What are you working on?”

“Just some initial sketches for a project Master Hirin’s given me. Six three-yard scrolls depicting the lives of the incarnations of Durin the Deathless. Black ink only. Working backwards from the sixth to the first.”

“Sounds ambitious,” Thrain privately grins at Thror’s involved expression. “But I’m sure the finished products will be splendid.”

“I could spit on a piece of parchment and you’d call it ‘splendid,’” Thror snorts, never taking his eyes off his sketches. “I’m just hoping they won’t be bad to the point of being...Shit, what’s the word? Pro-something?”

“Profanation?”

“Yes, that. Thank you.” Thror’s jaw tightens as he works, eyes narrowing as if he were exceptionally angry. Thrain just shakes his head and scoots closer to watch. Thror’s work was never good enough by his own standards. The boy wouldn’t be satisfied until his pieces were as good as the tiles lining Erebor’s galleries and staircases.

Thrain watches Thror scratch out more and more sketches, details taking shape in the dim candlelight. When every possible spot on the pages is used up, Thror leans back, fanning the wet ink with one hand. He turns slightly, Thrain notices a few dried spatters of ink in his chest hair. “What is it you want to talk about?”

“How do you know I want to talk about something?”

Thror blinks slowly at him. “Do you ever _not_ want to talk about something?”

Thrain tweaks his brother’s nose, only receiving a small swat in return, lest the ink pot get spilled. “Did Father tell you about the reports from Master Nori?”

“Yes,” Thror’s face grows clouded. “Between the rumours from Isengard, Rohan,the Orcs...It’s all really unsettling.” He pauses, looking at Thrain but not quite meeting his eye. “Do you think there’ll be a war?”

“Perhaps,” Thrain says carefully. He flicks a lock of hair out of Thror’s face when he looks up. “If there is, I doubt it will involve us. The Elves and the Men will likely sort it out themselves, I doubt they will have need of us Dwarves.”

“But if they do?”

“If we are called, we will go. Unless Father said otherwise?”

“No, actually, he said the same thing. With the added mention that ‘we’ does not include me, since I’m not of age” Thror looks down at his pages, ascertains them to be dry, and opens to fresh ones. “My response to that is, how do we know the war will be finished before I am of age?”

“We don’t. Oh, if only Gandalf would visit! I’m sure he has a better idea of what’s going on out there than we do.” Thrain flops against the headboard, reaches out to tug on Thror’s cheek. “Don’t worry too much, little brother. I’ll look out for you, it’s my job.”

Thror swats his hand away and begins aggressively sketching once more. “No, you’re going to be king, remember? _My_ job is to look after _you._ ”

Thrain means to say “You could be a very fine king, if you had to be,” but sees the fear in his brother’s eyes. It’s going on nine years since he almost made Thror the next heir, not with that intention, of course. But the boy clearly has enough anxious thoughts, he doesn’t need any more. Thrain returns to watching him work, ignoring the nervous bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Oh, almost forgot. On a somewhat related note,” Thror puts his quill aside and seals the pot of ink tightly. He shifts, takes hold of Thrain’s shoulders, and looks him straight in the eye. “Thrain, you’re my brother.”

Thrain feels the weight of the pause. “I am.”

The monotone does not abate. “I care for you a great deal. I’ve spent my entire life with you. I would die for you.”

“I feel the same way for you.” Thrain reaches up to grasp his brother’s wrists.

Thror remains completely stone-faced as he continues. “But if you ever stroll through my door without knocking while I have a lady in here, I’m afraid I’ll have to choke the life out of you.”

Thrain blinks as his mind takes a moment to process. He pushes his brother halfway across the bed when it registers. “Thror! Honestly! Of course I’m not going to come in here if you’re courting someone! I’m not a complete fool!”

“Only a partial one, then?” Thror cackles, dodging the pillow chucked at his head and resting back on his elbows. “But even before then, you know...‘gotta hit a lot of white rings before you get that bullseye?’”

“You said yourself that you are _not_ of age yet!” Thrain’s brow furrows and he bares his teeth. So much for Thror’s blissful state of ignorance. “You have no business having anyone in your room, or being in anyone else’s! Why do you think I waited with Neva-”

“You kissed her, that’s not waiting!”

“She kissed me, and it is irrelevant besides!” Thrain growls, nails digging crescent nicks into his palms. “She wasn’t some one-time roll in the hay, I fell in love with her. That sort of carrying on isn’t right at your age! You are a _child!_ ”

Thror’s lips flatten into a thin line, and one eyebrow curves sharply. “If I’m a child, then what were you when you lost your virginity drunk in a back room on Durin’s Day?”

“A particularly foolish child alone with another child.” Thrain says definitely, squaring his shoulders. “And I did court him properly after being delayed by...extenuating circumstances.”

Thror gets that contrite, fallen look he does whenever Thrain’s first Orc raid comes up, as it does so unfortunately frequently. Thrain’s quick to attempt at making amends. “But it didn’t work out in the end, because we were too young. It took me a long time to realize it.”

“You met Neva less than a week after splitting from him, and now you’re fighting Papa tooth and nail to spend the rest of your life with her.” Thror sits up properly, shuffling across the bed until he’s nearly in Thrain’s personal space. “But you never even told anyone about Tavor.”

Thrain bristles. “I told you.”

“After I walked in on the two of you!” Thror shakes his head, one simple beard braid entangling another. “Do you _really_ think the coming of age ceremony makes that big of a difference?”

“Yes! That’s why I kept Tavor a secret! I’m a scholar of Mahal, I’m the Heir of Durin, I shouldn’t make silly, youthful mistakes like that, and I don’t anymore!”

Thror stares at him for a long moment, lighted eyes boring into him. The lie of the “yes” and “that’s why” burns Thrain’s lips, scalds his tongue, melts down his throat. The balm is the truth in the rest of it, but though it soothes, it might not hide.

At last, Thror whistles between his teeth. Long and soft. “When you do meet your end, the Maker’s going to have one nice, soft cushion waiting for you at the end of his bed.”

Thrain’s laugh sputters in the release of tension. Thror laughs too, boisterous and deep, and things aren’t quite so foreboding anymore. Thrain really does hate when these talks turn so serious. He just wants to spend time with his brother.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Thror says, sets his ink, quill, and book on his side table. “I’m going riding with Amara tomorrow. Do me a favour and say a prayer that I won’t be trampled by that monster horse of hers.”

“An isn’t so bad once you get to know him, and give him a few apples.”

“Yeah, tell that to him!”

Thrain laughs, blowing out the candle on his side at the same time Thror snuffs the one on his. The pair crawl under the heavy covers, briefly bicker over who is hogging and why, before finally turning in.

Thror’s asleep and snoring loudly the moment he closes his eyes. Thrain lays still for a while, rolls a few times, takes a minute to slip off his eye patch and tuck it under his pillow before settling. He slips off fairly quickly, knowing his little brother will only be too happy to kick him in the shin if his nightmares grow loud.

**_ FIN _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more notes, before you go! 
> 
> Neva's tuberculosis (or consumption, as it's called here): Tuberculosis is spread via air, and most infections show no symptoms, but one in ten will progress into active disease, and the results are frequently fatal. Neva's likely been infected for several years, but her immune system has only given in recently and she hasn't been showing symptoms for nearly as long.   
> Disclaimer that I am not a medical professional of any kind, I'm just using what limited research I've done to write a fictional character's illness with reasonable accuracy. Just thought I'd fill you guys in on things I can't properly reveal in the story, but that's all I'm going to say about Neva and her illness for now ;).   
> Also, that's not a misplaced prefix you saw, Amara named her horse An. Take from that what you will.


	12. To Pull Wild Mountain Thyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of cute involving Masters Nori and Bofur, as well as Thrain and Neva. The young ones are told that Nori and Bofur must watch them during their picnic in the sunflower fields. Watch out for all of the cute, it will kill. ;)

“You’re doing what now, Master Nori?”

The middle Ri smirks like the arse he is, looking at Thrain,. “Bofur and I will be escorting you two this evening! There’ll be no wandering hands on our watch.”

Nori even makes a show of making them move farther apart. The older man laughs as Neva loudly groans and smacks his hand away. “Uncle Nori, I’m no child! Thrain wouldn’t _dare_ touch me unless I told him he could!”

“Hew now, young lady!” Bofur hisses, making Nori snicker and Neva groan more. “You two aren’t even suppose to be courting! You’re lucky to have the Queen herself letting you two go out, this could put us all on the outs with the King.”

Neva is about to tell Bofur as nicely as she can to shush, when Thrain speaks, voice commanding attention. “Master Bofur, I’m happy that you are concerned about us, but we can manage. We’ve known for a year that we need to keep things private. Of course, I understand you’re just looking after your niece, but we just want time alone. We barely get to see each other as it is.”

Everyone understood what Thrain was saying. Since Thrain had told Thorin about his courting of Neva, the prince had become suspiciously laden with more reports, weapons practices, and court duties. Thrain knew that it was his father’s way of trying to delay the courtship indefinitely. How he wished that he and his father could just get along! He knew that he had done his share of wrongs as well. He knew that. But it would make such a difference if Thorin could listen to reason. 

Bella grabs hold of her son, hugging him tightly before putting his winter cloak on for him. She retrieves one of her old brooches, one of her father’s in fact, out of her pocket and speaks quietly to him. “Did you remember to bring some money, love?” 

“Of course, Mama.”

“How about a nice spot to eat? You need to find-”

“A place where no one with a big mouth can see us. I know, Mama.”

“I love you, my little hobbit. You make sure to be a gentleman. Don’t ask Neva to do anything you wouldn’t ask of me!”

The rest of the room chuckles quietly as they watch the queen and her eldest. Thrain pulls his mother in and touches their foreheads together. The prince kisses her cheek. The Queen laughs at her son, Thrain joining her. “I love you too, Mama. Thank you, for everything.”

Bella smiles as she brings him close. “You two be good. Make sure you keep an eye on Bofur and Nori. They’re crafty little scamps when they want to be! I’ve found them in compromising positions before.” 

The room erupts in laughter. Bofur turns brred at the remark and covers his eyes a little. “I said I was sorry about that, Bella! If I would’ve known that you were outside, I would never have-”

Nori embraces Bofur from behind, kissing his neck. “Oh hush! You love to make a little show when we-”

“Alright, that’s enough! I don’t want to hear another word out of you two!” Neva swats frantically at her uncles. Both laugh once more, as they start packing up their things for the picnic. Thrain smiles at his mother, kissing her hand, then bowing slightly.

“I’ll be back soon, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear, dear little hobbit.” 

***

Bofur can’t help but gawk at Thrain. He hasn’t seen the boy this happy since he was small. He and Nori watch the young couple walking in front of them. The four of them are heading towards their desired spot, in a lovely field of sunflowers on the borders of Dale. No sooner then the young dwarves left the sight of the house that their hands found each other and held tight.

Nori nudges his husband, characteristically smug smile gracing his face. “Do you remember when we were that young? Well, I suppose we were a touch older, but you know what I mean, don’t you, treasure?” 

Bofur smacks the star-haired man, forcing a loud laugh from him. “Don’t call me ‘treasure’ in front of the young ones! And we were more than ‘a touch’ older than them, Mister Modesty.” 

Nori’s hand finds Bofur’s waist. “Aww, I was only kidding around with you.” His hand travels a little lower, resting on his hip. 

Bofur smiles at the King’s Thief, pecking him on the cheek. “You know, I’ve never seen Thrain this happy, even as a child. Same goes for Neva.” 

They watch their niece with a smile, as she laughs at something Thrain said. She holds his hand tighter, as he does the same. The prince kisses his beloved on the forehead, murmuring how beautiful she looks and how he loves her. Nori and Bofur look at each other when they hear Thrain’s whispers about future children and how Neva would make a lovely bride. It’s official, they want these two together. Hopefully Thrain’s mysterious conflict with his father works itself out soon. 

Finally, after much searching, Neva sets down a large quilt, motioning for everyone to take a seat. Neva and Thrain set everything up, getting exactly what the other needs without communication. All of the plates and the beautiful food, courtesy of their dear burglar, make it look more like a feast then a picnic. Beautiful pastries and cookies for dessert, as well as a small three course meal.

Nori takes an enthusiastic bite of a sausage roll. “Oh, your mother is a wonderful cook, Thrain. These make me almost miss the journey to Erebor!”

“Oh, is that so?” Thrain laughs low in his belly, giving Nori a large smile. “I get these wonderful rolls all the time, Nori. No dragon-chasing necessary.” 

Nori smacks the young prince upside the head, making him laugh even more. “Don’t tease me, you little brat! I speak with your father every day, I wouldn’t test your luck.”

It’s Neva’s turn to smack Nori, making him scoff at her. “Uncle Nori, don’t even joke about that! Thorin doesn’t need another thing to have a disagreement with Thrain over!” 

Bofur and Nori clearing their throats, but Thrain just cups Neva’s jaw lightly and kisses her. “Don’t worry about it, my dear. Our disagreements are strictly between us, no one else causes them.” 

“Lad,” Bofur smiles slowly, reluctantly getting the attention of the young prince. “Sorry if I’m bringing down the mood, but you ought to talk to Thorin again. If you really do want to marry Neva, and show him that you do, I think you’ll find your father more understanding of the situation.” 

Thrain says nothing for quite a long moment, and an awkward tension settles on the group. Neva grabs Thrain’s hands as he starts to finally talk. “Master Bofur, I don’t think you understand. I’ve tried that. He seems to close his ears when I speak. He wholeheartedly believes that he’s right and I’m behaving immaturely, and he won’t hear otherwise. Our only option is to wait and see if my mother can convince him. If not, well...” 

“He’s a very head-strong man. But you’ll see, Thrain, your Pa will come around. He always does in the end.” Bofur rubs Thrain’s shoulder as he brings him close. The young prince smiles, but it didn’t reach his eyes until he looks towards Neva, smiling wider. Bofur and Nori have noticed that other than Bella, their niece seems to be the only other woman that can get that big smile out of him. It’s a good change from the sour pout Thrain usually puts on. 

“I hope you two are right,” Thrain kisses Neva on the cheek, rubbing his thumb over her greying hand. “Because I don’t think I have much time left.” The young lovers look at each other, Neva trying to smile but only making Thrain frown and grip her hand even tighter. 

Nori’s face twists with emotion, and Bofur copies Thrain’s grip on Nori’s hand. “Let’s stop playing at predicting the future and enjoy our picnic, hm? Bella will hang us out on the line if we let her food go bad.” 

Thrain laughs at Nori’s remark, but his thumb circles worriedly over the hilt of his beautifully crafted sword. “Yes, let’s.” 

*** 

“Come on, Thrain! I don’t want my uncles to notice we’re gone!” Neva’s small hand holds tightly to Thrain’s bigger one. She smiles back at him as she drags the boy towards the lake. They giggle quietly as they get closer to the cool lake. “Oh Mahal, I can’t wait to get in the water! I can’t stand this humidity!” 

Thrain smiles for his beautiful flower, but stops when she turns around. She must be getting a fever again. It’s actually quite nice today. “Neva, love, please slow down! I don’t want you to overexert yourself! I hate seeing you go through that, I feel so useless.” 

Usually, Neva would try and joke around with him or tell him she’s fine, but she slows immediately. She knows that she should be taking things slow. But Thrain shouldn’t worry about her being sick. But- No. Thrain is going to find a cure, Neva. It will all be fine! 

Nearly three years prior, when the healer had delivered the grim news, Neva had been fine with dying. It was part of every dwarf’s story. Some stories end quickly, and some go on very long. Most thought she should be scared out of her wits, but she had come to understand and accept death at a very early age. Death would be an end, certainly, to books and scarves and other things she loved. But it also would be getting to see her grandfather, her Papa’s parents, and most of all, her Mama. 

Neva had so many questions to ask her! Such as “Why did you fall for Papa?” and even plain questions like, Why did you love winter so much?” There were so many that she wanted to know the answers to, that her father couldn’t adequately answer. As a matter of fact, Neva had been writing her Mama letters every single day since she could write. Even as she seems to be leaving the world, if anything her letters have just grown lengthier with each passing day. It just makes things harder when the people all around are so upset by it, including her lover. 

Neva recalls one of the times that Thrain had come to visit at the house, she had found him waiting in her room. Thrain had looked up, not even bothering to wipe his tears. “I’m sorry, love. I know I shouldn’t have read it, but it was there, and,-” Her handsome prince lifted the pages in his hand, putting them back in their proper order. “I’m so sorry. If you would like, I can escort myself out.” 

“Thrain, no! It’s...it’s alright. I’m a little disappointed that you would read something so private without asking first,” Neva sat on the bed, laying her head on his strong shoulder as she smiled up to him. “But I understand. Just promise me you won’t do it again, alright?” 

They smiled at eachother, then Thrain placed a kiss on her head. It was from that moment on that their love letters reached a new peak, going from three or four pages, to seven or twelve. Though Thrain’s letters were not “poetic” by any means, they were so full of truth and emotion, flowery language wasn’t necessary. Her letters on the other hand, were quite flowery and full of desire. His were full of desire, also. Very much so. Most of his letters had her blushing dark and-! 

“Neva, dear, are you alright? Is something bothering you?” 

The young woman glances up, smiling when she notices that they’re on the shore of the lake. “I’m alright, Thrain. I was just daydreaming!” 

Thrain smiles back, lifting her head up to place a deep, loving kiss on her lips. “Alright my love, but please don’t be afraid to talk to me about anything.” 

He strokes his thumb over her cheek. The young woman looks down as a blush creeps to her cheeks. “I won’t, my dear. But if I could be blunt,” Neva’s voice is a whisper, sending chills up Thrain’s spine. “I think you can take those clothes off now. I’ll meet you in the lake.” 

Neva sheds her clothes abnormally quickly, making Thrain moan under his breath. Even though he’s seen her naked before, it still sends shocks through his body. His hands fumble with the buckles on his boots, shoving them off of his feet. His tunic, trousers, and small clothes come off quickly, and he slinks into the lake. If there is one thing that made Thrain feel better about these situations, it was how caring Neva was. She never made a big deal out of his scars, even when they were in, well, odd places. 

As if she had been reading his mind, Neva ran her hand down his abdomen, stopping when she touches thicker hair. “Is something bothering you? Or are you just daydreaming?” 

Thrain looks down into her eyes, a small smile beginning on his face. “I was merely thanking Mahal that you’re so understanding of my scars.” 

Neva giggles and places a kiss on his nose, splashing lake water at him with her hands. “You’re welcome, my silly prince!” 

The young man spits the water out of his mouth, smile turning sinister as he looks in Neva’s direction. “Oh, I see how you want to play this game, fair maiden! Alas, I, Prince Thrain, son of Bella Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield, will defend my honour!” 

Neva squeaks when cold water is thrown at her, drenching her white locks. “Hey, don’t mess with the hair! It takes a long time to dry!” 

Both of them roar with laughter as they splash one another. Before long, Thrain grabs her hands, bringing them to rest around his neck. “You’ll look so beautiful in Mama’s wedding gown, Neva. With a few alterations, it’ll be like it was made for you.” 

Thrain’s mouth finds hers, holding her close. As they listen to the owls and running water, the kisses quickly become heated. Thrain smiles as Neva holds him closer, starting to explore his mouth. After a few moments, Thrain pulls away, smiling as he places his forehead against hers. “I love you so much, Neva.” 

The young woman chuckles, kissing him again. “I love you too, Thrain, with every ounce of my being.” 

***

Bofur looks over every bush and tree in search of the two lovebirds. “Nori, where could they have gone? What if they went to, you know?” 

Nori tuts at his husband, annoyance clearly showing in his voice. “Bofur, if you think those two would do anything stupid that could get Neva in trouble, you don’t know them.” 

Bofur starts to clean up the food, feeling a little bad that they ate more food than the kids did. He makes sure to pack it properly so that Thrain and Neva could eat later when they showed themselves again. Nori folded the beautiful quilt, made by their mother for Ori when he was a child, rolling it up to tie it to Thrain’s pack. 

“Bofur, can I tell you something I’ve been keeping to myself?” Bofur looks up at Nori, his face uncharacteristically worried. “It’s nothing bad just, you know, my feelings towards these next few years.” 

“Nori, of course you can tell me!” The shorter man crawls towards his partner, sitting across from him and taking his hands. “Tell me what’s wrong, y’won’t hear any judgement from me.” 

The star-haired man smiles, reaching up to rub his thumb over his partner’s cheek. “I just think that Neva needs to have her space, including time alone with Thrain.” Nori moves and pours himself a large glass of wine, offering Bofur some as well. Bofur declines, Nori continues. “I mean, of course I don’t want Neva to come home with a bun in the over or anything, but she needs to skip out and rebel once in awhile! She doesn’t have many years left, and I’d like for her to grow and live them out to the fullest!” 

“I know.” Bofur places a kiss on Nori’s knuckles, looking into his grey eyes. “I understand what you’re saying, I really do, but I also really don’t want to die at the hands of your brothers! I’ve seen how Ori can get when it comes to Neva.” Bofur gulps, remembering the first time that Neva came home with an accidental bump on her head. Bofur got one that was twice the size, courtesy of a frying pan. A frying pan, for crying out loud! 

Nori smiles, patting his husband’s back and kissing him gently on the mouth. They hold each other close for what feels like hours, before they hear someone calling their names. 

“Uncle Nori! Uncle Bofur! We’re back!” Neva waves at them both, still holding on tightly to Thrain’s hand. Mahal, she looks so beautiful in the dusk light. When they both finally sit back down with the older dwarves, Neva kisses them both on the cheek. “We went for a little walk, then I went into the lake to cool down.” 

Nori grins at Thrain, punching him in the shoulder. “I take it you went into the lake too? I’m sure that you were feeling ‘warm’ yourself!” 

Bofur and Thrain smack his arms in unison, from opposite sides, before telling Nori off. Neva smiles at them both, happy to see her uncles still being their usual selves. The time limit she’d been given was one thing that frightened her. Of course, her Papa and Uncle Dori were trying to act the same, but she knew they weren’t taking things so well. Neva already had to tell Dori to leave Uncle Nori alone, since he was just going on with his life as normal. 

“Nori, you could at least show Neva that you’re upset! Maybe stay at home for longer than a few weeks at a time!” Dori has smacked his younger brother in the arm, scolding him like a mother would her child. “I would expect that Neva wants to see you more before-” 

Dori did not finish, seeing his youngest brother flinching at the mere mention of the inevitable. Neva grabbed her Papa’s hand, kissing him on the forehead as she spoke. “It’s okay, Dori. I want Uncle Nori to still live his life! I want you all to still live your lives! I know that Mama will be there waiting for me in the Halls, and that comforts me. No one should change _anything_ while I’m still here. It hurts much more than things staying the same!-” 

For the second time that night, Neva is snapped out of her thoughts This time by Thrain laying her head on his lap as he starts to hum. His hands run through her hair, braiding pieces of of it while she lays still with her eyes closed. Before long, Thrain starts to sing, gaining the full attention of Nori and Bofur. 

_“Oh the summertime has come  
And the trees are sweetly blooming  
And the wild mountain thyme  
Grows around the blooming heather” _

Thrain looks down at Neva, smiling sweetly as she gazes up into Thrain’s eye. She notices every flicker of light in his eye, every single movement he makes. Nori and Bofur silently watch the couple as they have this moment, taking note of Thrain rubbing subconscious, barely-there circles on Neva’s stomach. 

_“Will ye go, Lassie go?  
And we'll all go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the blooming heather  
Will ye go, Lassie go?” _

Neva nods up at Thrain, giggling as he crosses his eye and sticks out his tongue. Nori and Bofur laugh along, swaying back and forth a bit, keeping a strong beat with their feet, muffled by damp ground and blanket. Nori can’t help but grab Bofur’s hand, squeezing tightly. 

_“I will build my love a tower  
Near yon' pure crystal fountain  
And on it I will pile  
All the wild flowers of the mountain  
Will ye go, Lassie go?” _

Thrain’s voice is filled to spilling with emotion by this point, only looking at Neva as he sings. The older men don’t understand how he could be so open with them right there, but he’s also known these two since he was wee. Both men can’t help but picture the young pair older, little children piled around them and playing with toys. Neva feels her eyelids shut by themselves. 

_“If my true love she were gone  
Then I’ll surely find another  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the blooming heather  
Will ye go, Lassie go?” _

Thrain’s voice swells during the last line, repeating it twice more. The only thing heard in the field is the rustling of the sunflowers and the strong voice of the prince. When he finally looks towards his love again, he only giggles for a moment before kissing her softly on the forehead. “I think we wore her out, Masters Nori and Bofur! Do you mind if I carry her home? I promise it’s not any trouble. I’d carry her across Middle Earth if it meant spending time with her.” 

Bofur grins wide, gripping Nori’s hand tighter. “I know you would, lad. We best get her home, before she catches a cold! It’s gotten rather chilly out all of a sudden!” 

The prince smiles down to his love, holding her like it was the last time he would hold her again. Though Bofur and Nori ask Thrain multiple times, he does not let them take turns carrying her. Instead, he just keeps going, whispering the song into her ear and placing small kisses on her temple when he doesn’t think Nori and Bofur are looking. Of course, the older men never stop watching them, noticing that Neva only grabs onto Thrain tighter as time goes on. 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Thrain sings to Neva is called "Wild Mountain Thyme," which is a Scottish folk song about a man who wants to take his lass to live in the mountains, offering to build her a 'tower' by a 'clear crystal fountain' to woo her. 
> 
> HERE IS A LINK! Listen to it when that part comes up, and I guarantee you that you will love it as much as I do. This particular version is sung by The Corries, which is one of the many Scottish and Irish bands I love.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVQkdV4GwLc


	13. How Did We Get Here, Where Do We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jaunt into the past tackles a gnawing question: How did Bella and Thorin go from the disaster of the Arkenstone betrayal to being happily married with a veritable litter of children? And what bearing do those events have on the present, as described so far? These questions and more answered, in this pet project chapter of baconnegg's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I would like to say how terribly sorry I am for the delay in update! I've had this chapter thought of for a while, and I thought it would just be a cute little drabble but it just kept getting longer and longer. Sorry again. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you for sticking with us! Slashluvr and I will be starting school again soon, and are waiting with baited breath for the next Hobbit movie. Please look forward to possibly shorter chapters in the future, the plot is slowly being set in motion. Double thanks for dealing with our affinity for an all over the place timeline (mostly my fault, whoops). 
> 
> Speaking of slashluvr, she's a super fabulous artist who's done a number of pieces for this AU. Please do take a look, you won't regret it: http://slashluvr.tumblr.com/search/my+drawings

Bella sneezes from dust thrown up by dragging the wooden chest. Bag End is coated with it, floor to rafters, topped with a deliberate sprinkling of cobwebs. They shimmer grey in the moonlight pouring through the windows, until Bella starts up a fire, yellowing the room and chasing off the early spring chill. She shudders, feeling cold patches of travel sweat heated away. 

Gandalf brings in her large pack, setting it down alongside the chest. He walks over and silently kneels down, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Bella snaps her head up, eyes suddenly glassy. Gandalf’s hand tightens slightly. “I’ll return to you very soon, my friend. Do you require anything else before I leave?” 

“No, thank you, Gandalf.” Bella touches his weathered knuckles, fighting the waver in her voice. “You’ve done more than enough for me already.” 

Gandalf looks at her for a long, quiet moment, then offers a small smile as he stands up. “In a few days’ time, then.” 

“Yes.” They nod at one another, and Gandalf lets himself out. Bella’s eyes stay fixed on the parlour doorway after he’s left. Through it, she can see the outline of her pack, walking stick, and chest of gold. 

_Gold._ The worst of four-letter words, by far. 

Bella glances around the room. The entirely ordinary, dusty, unadventurous little room. She never thought of it as “little” before. Until she fought Orcs and Wargs and giant spiders, rode barrels, and faced a dragon. Did any great number of things that could fill a whole book, were she to write them down. And now all she has to show for them is _gold._

Well, gold and memories that are filling her head to bursting at the moment. Bella gathers herself up and trots through the dark halls to her bedroom. She returns with a dusty pillow and a few covers, and without even caring to remove her filthy clothes, curls up in front of the fire. She could try, but Bella knows she won’t be able to sleep in a silent, comfortable bed. Not now. 

* * * 

The next morning, Bella awakens and makes breakfast at a stove, instead of over a firepit. During a stop in Bree, she had put some of her gold to use and purchased enough food to last her a fortnight, at least. She has no desire to go out and run errands just yet. Though she does want to take a peek at her garden, for curiosity’s sake, before she takes on the onerous task of scrubbing her once-immaculate home. 

She opens the back door and startles Hamfast Gamgee into dropping his watering can, contents spilling all over his feet. “Well, I don’t believe my eyes! You are alive! Dear little Bella Baggins has come back!” 

Bella flaps a hand, trying to hush him. He ceases his shouting, but smiles wide and strides over to embrace her. Bella can’t help but melt into the arms of her neighbour and old family friend. It feels more familiar than the walls of her own home do. She’s not even self-conscious of her rumpled clothes, as she would have been nearly a year ago. 

“I didn’t think you’d ever return!” The Gaffer says with a laugh, drawing back to look her over. “After you went running after those dwarves, and the rumours we’ve heard...You’ll have to set us all straight, we don’t know what to believe!” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” Bella sighs, feeling not physically, but mentally tired. “I need to take some time to rest before I’m fit to tell anything to anyone. I hope you understand.” 

“Of course, of course,” The Gaffer nods, hiding his disappointment well. “Do come over for a visit when you’re feeling up to it. I won’t bother you until then, but I can keep looking after your garden, if you like.” 

“Have you been looking after it all this time?” Bella says, voice pitching high with concern. Only now does she notice that her garden is indeed, just as she had left it. 

“Aye, if you did come home, I didn’t want you to have a mess of weeds on your hands.” 

“Oh, you dear man! Wait just one moment!” Bella darts inside, grabs a tight fistful of gold coins, and runs out to shove it into the Gaffer’s hands. The back door’s shut and locked behind her before he can speak a protesting word. 

Later that day, Bella hangs a sign on her front gate reading _“Not receiving guests until further notice.”_ She signs it _“B. Baggins”_ in distinctive script, allowing for no confusion. Once the gate is shut tightly, she returns inside and cleans and cleans until sundown, pointedly ignoring Lobelia’s loud calls. 

* * * 

Gandalf does indeed return, just under a week later. They don’t say anything as they sit and drink their tea. Wizards are not much for idle chatter, she has learned. Halfway through their cups, a faint tapping is heard from the kitchen. Bella excuses herself, hoping with all her might that her nosier relatives haven’t resorted to outright trespassing. Thankfully, it is merely a turtledove, tapping its beak on the window. 

“Silly little creature,” Bella turns to go but finds Gandalf has followed her. He reaches over and, despite her loud protests, opens the window. Rather than swooping in and flapping around the place like a terror, the bird strolls across the windowsill and stops, blinking expectantly at Bella. 

“Gandalf, just what in Yavanna’s name are you up to now?” 

“It is a friend of Radagast’s,” Gandalf says matter-of-factly, a slight smile on his face as he looks down at his bewildered hobbit friend. “It will be your new messenger.” 

“Messenger? What for?” Bella shakes her head, looking warily at the bird. “Did something happen to the post office? Oh, please tell me your fireworks didn’t have anything to do with it.” 

“Of course not!” Gandalf grips his staff tightly. “It is so you might correspond with your friends Under the Mountain.” 

“Oh.” Bella looks down, hands fussing with the fabric of her skirt. The warm afternoon air suddenly feels stifling. 

Gandalf gazes sadly down on her. “It would only be fair to let them know you’re alive, and ask of them. I doubt the pony post has a stop at Erebor yet, and even if it did, I would not rely on it.” 

Bella wets her lips and looks at the dove, who cocks its head and coos gently at her. “...I would very much like to hear of how they’re doing, especially Fili and Kili.” 

“Very well then!” Gandalf says, smile returning. He moves out of the kitchen, ducking to avoid ceiling fixtures just barely. “The creature is yours to command until you have no use of it, in which case, give the word and it will go. All it requires in return is a bit of seed with each letter. Farewell, and good luck with your correspondence, Bella.” 

“Wait! Wait, just one minute!” Bella hurries after him, though he’s already in the oak hall. “You’re leaving right now?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid I have matters I must attend to, outside of the Shire.” Gandalf turns, bending to grip Bella’s shoulder. “I will return to you before long, my friend. This shall not be the last time I visit Bag End.” 

Bella smiles, feeling comforted by the kindness in his eyes. “I certainly hope it isn’t. Though if this guest,-” she gestures back, in the direction of the kitchen. “Makes as a big a mess as the last ones you sent here, I will have to have _words_ with you.” 

“Of course,” Gandalf chuckles. “Farewell, my friend.” 

“Farewell! And safe travels!” The wizard gives Bella one last smile and nod before slipping out the green door. She heaves a deep-rooted sigh as soon as he’s gone, shuffling back to the kitchen to find the turtledove perched on the windowsill. It looks up when she enters the room, feathers shining in the sunlight. 

“Al-right, then.” Bella drawls, fidgeting for a moment before grabbing a bag of sunflower seeds from a nearby drawer. She pours a small pile in front of the bird and returns the bag to its drawer. She eyes the turtledove sideways before sighing again, and going to fetch her pipe. 

In the study, Bella takes her time laying out a piece of parchment and getting her quill and ink together. She leans back, sucking on her pipe. She knows exactly to whom she should address the letter, the question is, what to say? 

The last thing Thorin had said to her had been with a raspy voice, his hands clasping hers as he encouraged; _“Go, go take your house back and sort out your affairs before they have you declared dead. I would be beside myself if your parents’ heirlooms ended up in the rubbish heap. Please, we will recover just the same whether you are here or not, go with Gandalf. Please.”_

The last thing before that, Bella had thought at the time it would be the last thing he would ever say. _“If more of us valued food and cheer and song-”_ oh! How it had broken her! She was certain the light had left Thorin’s eyes after he spoke, and she wept and wept the whole night through. But he breathed anew the next morning, and to touch the warm skin of his hands, to see his chest rise and fall with breaths! Bella had felt the weight of something very strange in that moment, something like a great responsibility, but it did not seem to rest on herself. Then, Thorin had smiled at her, and the how’s and why’s went out from her mind. 

And as for the things Thorin had said to her before _that,_ well. She had spent the whole of the trip back to Bag End thinking on them. In an instant, she can almost feel Thorin’s hands on her lapels, smell his breath so close to her face, and see the mania in his eyes... 

A lump constricts Bella’s throat at these memories, and she forces herself to take up her quill. Short and simple, that is what this letter must be. 

_“Dear Thorin,_

_I apologize for the unusual method of communication. This is Gandalf’s doing, and I needn’t say more than that. Give the bird a bit of seed, tie your response to its leg, and send it on its way. Really, I am very sorry._

_The journey back was a long, wet trudge, but I did make it in one undamaged piece. I am in possession of Bag End again, though I have yet to receive any of my family._

_How do you fare? How are Fili and Kili recovering? And the others? How go things in Erebor? I hope for the very best for all of you._

_Sincerely,  
Bella Baggins”_

Bella bites her lip, reconsidering the wooden closing of the letter, but quickly realizes that nothing else is suitable. She finds a small skin of leather at the bottom of her pack, rolls the letter up inside it, and ties it to the turtledove’s leg with a thick bit of cord. Once the letter is secured tightly, the bird seems to nod at her before swooping out the still-open window and disappearing into the sky. 

* * * 

After one ridiculous day of anticipatory pacing and burning through far too much pipe-weed, Bella finally takes the sign down from her front gate. Not two hours pass before there is knocking at her door, and before three hours are up, Bag End is packed not with dwarves this time, but with hobbits. Tooks and Baggins’ and Brandybucks of all ages and types. Despite the number of them, they’re easily quelled when Bella is at last ready to tell an exceptionally pared-down version of the journey to Erebor. 

Bella only relates the broader details, because no one would care for the personal ones at best, and judge them presumptuously at worst. She speaks of trolls and stone-giants, of Rivendell and Goblintown, of Wood-elves and Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies. Wisely, she takes care to omit any parts relating to the ring currently tucked safely in her pocket. Nor does she not speak of friendships earned, of close calls, and especially, not of one Thorin Oakenshield. 

The crowd of her family is quite respectful during the tale, and follow-up questions are trivial and easy to answer. Bella can’t help but feel as if she’s something on display in the Mathom-house in Michel Delving. A curious object that people have come to wonder at and poke at a bit. None of the questions ask her opinion or feelings, everyone just wants to know what the dragon looked like. It would be nice if they could be interested in the former at least a little, or be equally interested in both. 

Dusk draws in and everyone shuffles out, leaving many invitations for tea in their wake. Lobelia insists on getting one comment in on the state of Bella’s appearance before she leaves. Bella gives her a smile that’s all teeth and shuts the round door tightly, though nonetheless runs a self-conscious hand through her curls afterwards. She’d chopped off her long, honey-brown after the trolls, and kept them clipped close until she departed for Hobbiton with Gandalf. That, combined with eventually losing nearly every last ounce of fat off her body, meant she’d been mistaken for a man at least once in Laketown. 

Not that she’d really minded at that point. She had always liked breeches. 

Her hair is rather quickly returning to its previous state, but the same cannot be said for her figure. Bella sighs and goes to fix herself a large supper, even though worry will just burn it away. 

Six days and many afternoon teas later, Bella is startled out of bed at the crack of dawn by a loud tapping. She hasn’t been so delighted to see a bird since the thrush helped put an end to Smaug. The turtledove pecks at its seed gift while Bella unrolls the letter so fast she nearly rips it in half. 

_“Dear Bella,_

_I am so relieved to hear of your safe arrival. Though it was I who encouraged you to go, I was greatly concerned about your travelling in the winter, wizard companion or not. Receiving mail by bird did not really surprise me, and that does say something, doesn’t it?_

_Fili developed an infection soon after you left, resulting in the third finger of his right hand being removed. It has since healed up, and the rest of his hand seems alright, if heavily scarred. He’s walking and performing other such tasks, slowly for now. Kili’s arm is still mostly bound up and under daily attention from Oin. He can move his fingers, but it is not yet clear if he will ever do more. They are both eternally grateful to you, as am I, as will their mother be when she finally receives the news. I hope you know that._

_I’ve nearly completely recovered from my injuries, though the more severe of them do plague me time and again. Everyone else has more or less recovered fully, and we are in the process of rebuilding Erebor. An influx of dwarves from the Iron Hills has been a great help to us, and has allowed me to take steps to ensure that what happened prior to the last battle will never occur again. Those working in the treasury will be rotated out with great frequency, and I myself shall never set foot in it again, only dealing with it through regular paper reports. I pray to Mahal that this will be enough._

_Erebor has already improved so much since you’ve left. With the large caravan that will surely be arriving from Ered Luin in due time, it will soon be exactly as I remember it. Perhaps, even better. At least, that is my hope. I am quite certain that whatever mortal pardon I’ve been granted is conditional._

_How I would like to spend my evenings with you once more, my dear Bella. Your absence makes for loneliness, even though I am surrounded by kin. The calming touch of your hand would be so appreciated in each day’s stressful moments. I long to hear your laugh once more. How do you fare? Is your home recovered to its former state? What does your family make of your adventure?_

_Yours respectfully,  
\- Thorin Oakenshield”_

His signature is followed by a wax royal seal, cracked along the edges. Bella, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor as she did when she was very young, lifts the letter from her lap with trembling hands. At the first inhale of Thorin’s scent, she begins to weep. 

Thorin is alive and well and _himself._ The man who wrote this letter is not the one who behaved like one possessed, who threatened to throw her into the rocks, who turned his back on everyone in favour of the shine of gold. This is the man who embraced her tightly on the Carrock, and more tenderly in Beorn’s halls. The one who shamelessly kissed her and braided her short hair in front of the entire Company, so no one would have doubts about their feelings. The one who, in the warm privacy of a shared bedroll, on the last night before they would face the dragon, asked her to be his wife. 

_“Not immediately, of course. When all of this is over and we’re more settled, I’ll be able to court you properly. And you’ll have plenty of time to consider, of course. As much time as you need-”_

_Bella’s lips and the press of her bare chest against his silenced Thorin instantly. “My answer is yes. I want to grow old with you.”_

_Thorin’s smile was blinding in its unrestrained joy and love. He made to pull her close and-_

It’s too much, just remembering it. Far too much. Bella presses the letter harder against her chest as a fresh round of tears fall. She hears a concerned sort of coo and looks up, finding the turtledove peering down at her. Her cheeks redden with inexplicable embarrassment. 

Bella stands, smoothing herself a little and clearing her throat as best she can. She addresses the bird in the hopes it will understand her. “Would you mind returning here again later tonight? I’ll have a letter for you by then, but I simply cannot write it right this instant.” 

The bird moves in such a way that might be described as a nod. In a second, it has flitted out the window and is gone. 

Bella, still holding the crumpled letter to her chest, drags her feet back to bed and crawls under the covers. Breakfast can go ride a barrel, for all she cares at the moment. 

By lunch, her stomach wins the fierce battle against her low spirits. After a hearty meal, she sets out on a walk. Turning her footsteps away from the clutch of Hobbiton smials and towards the surrounding woods. Tomorrow, she will walk properly through the main thoroughfare and parting sidestreets, without the goal of hurrying to one house or another. She will look hard and see what’s changed, what’s the same, who’s making eyes at whom, and whose children have grown, as well as make good on all the rest of her invitations. But right now, she must go clear her head. 

She wanders the leafy, flowered paths, feeling the warm sun pour over her and letting birdsong dance through her ears. The breeze, not quite chilly or warm, rustles her skirts and lifts her lengthening curls. When was the last time she enjoyed her surroundings like this? Laketown? No, she and Thorin had gone sightseeing as an excuse to enjoy each other, then. It must have been Rivendell. Beautiful, breathtaking Rivendell. Even if she never returned to the Lonely Mountain, she would return there. No question. 

Bella happens upon a particularly smooth boulder, sticking half out of the ground beside a wispy stream. She sits upon it, shrugging her pack off to one side. For most of the afternoon, Bella sits upon the boulder, sipping at her waterskin, listening to the woods, and inhaling the spiced air of the Shire. 

* * * 

The turtledove taps on the window of the study just after the sun is fully set. Bella sets aside her pen, which she’d been tapping rhythmically, and lets the creature inside. She beckons it to follow her to the kitchen, and it does, little feet scratching along the floor as it does. 

“If only Bard were here, I might be able to have a proper conversation with you.” Bella sets her not-yet-dry letter on the countertop as she retrieves a portion of seeds. The bird flaps up onto the counter and pecks away happily at the offering. “I feel a bit bad just talking at you.” 

The turtledove pauses in its feeding to tilt its head and coo briefly. Bella shakes her head lightly, and looks over the letter she’s just written. 

_“Dear Thorin,_

_I am so pleased to hear that you’re all recovering well. I am saddened to hear of Fili and Kili’s severe injuries. Please give them, and everyone else, my love._

_I am perfectly well. Bag End is back to normal, though the bathroom may never fully recover. I took a few days to relax and breathe before receiving my family, and now I’ve seen most of them. I imagine that by the time I’m through catching up, I’ll have told the story of our adventure so many times even the bit with the dragon will make me yawn._

_I’m pleased to hear about your progress in restoring Erebor. I’m sure that it will be back to its former glory before too long, you dwarves are nothing if not persistent. And you yourself have my full confidence. I know you’ll do what’s right for your people._

_I miss our talks as well, and while I should like to recreate them through this correspondence, I simply have nothing to report. I have yet to settle in enough to read a good book or hear of interesting gossip, or even make some sort of gardening triumph. Perhaps you could tell me more news of Erebor, and by the time I receive your letter, I might have some news of my own._

_Kind regards,  
Bella Baggins”_

The letter is a carefully-worded thing, the sole survivor amidst several aborted drafts now laying crumpled on the study floor. This is a delicate situation, one that demands tact and patience. Her thoughts and feelings are still a jumble, so there’s no use putting them to paper just yet. She will proceed carefully and respectfully, like a good hobbit should. 

The turtledove, having finished its seed, gazes at her expectantly. Bella touches the freshest ink to be sure it is dry, before wrapping the letter up and lashing it to the bird’s leg. It is soon gone, and she is alone once more. 

* * * 

Bella spends the next two weeks visiting what feels like every single hobbit she has ever met. Though time-consuming and occasionally a touch trying, it is truly delightful. She enjoys several fine suppers at Brandy Hall, spends many an hour chatting in the market, and smiles at the Gamgee children while they play at her feet. Telling the story to those who did not attend her homecoming party does grow tiresome very quickly, but people stop asking soon enough. Most hobbits don’t care much for adventure, after all. 

Bella strolls along the Brandywine River, looking forward to when it will be warm enough to cool her feet in it. She tends to her garden, straw hat tied under her chin and hands all over dirt. She cooks her meals. She starts reading again. She tries not to think of the ring in her pocket. She keeps the gate shut tight in case Lobelia decides to come calling. She smokes her pipe before she goes to bed. 

At the end of two weeks, she’s sitting at her dining table and enjoying a muffin while only being half-awake. A now-familiar tapping fully wakes her up, and she pulls her patterned dressing gown tight and gets the small portion of seeds before opening the kitchen window. The turtledove hops onto the counter and politely holds out its leg. 

“Thank you,” Bella murmurs as she retrieves the letter. “Come back this evening, won’t you? This one won’t take as long as the last, but just in case.” 

The turtledove coos in reply, and Bella slips off to the bedroom, stroking the smooth leather skin as she goes. She feels limp and warm with sleep, taking her time to wash herself, slide slowly into her clothes, and self-indulgently brush out her hair. Once she’s cleaned up, cinched closed, and tied back, she opens the letter. 

_“Dear Bella,_

_Fili, Kili, and the others return your love. The boys’ injuries improve with each passing day, and with luck, they might be fully recovered by year’s end. I am pleased to hear that things are going well for you, and you’ve caught up with your family. But now I must speak frankly with you._

_I love you, Bella. I love you much more than I could ever hope to properly express. There has been no other who fills me with such happiness and peace as you do, and I am certain there shall never be anyone ever again. My sweet, fierce, little hobbit, I dare not envision a life without meeting you._

_It was my understanding that, prior to the events of the Battle of the Five Armies, you felt similarly towards me. I realize your feelings might have altered since then, and I do understand why, but I wish you would tell me one way or another. Your last letter was so artificial, entirely unlike you._

_If you no longer love me, I will understand and think it best that we cease corresponding for both our benefits, at least for a time. If you love me still, I want you to know that you are as welcome in Erebor as any of the Company members. I would see you properly accommodated and your needs met whilst I courted you. Whatever you need to be comfortable, I would make sure you have it. You are as dear to me as my own kin, know that._

_Whatever your feelings end up being, my love and gratitude towards you will remain unchanged._

_Missing you greatly,  
\- Thorin Oakenshield”_

Bella feels Thorin’s words as a blade to her chest. All plans and pretenses rush from her head, and she hurries to her writing desk before she loses her nerve. She very nearly knocks over the jar of ink in her haste, laying out a piece of parchment and dipping her quill at the same time. 

_“Dear Thorin,_

_I am so sorry, I never meant to seem evasive or false. I only wanted to be prudent, since we are not speaking in person, and we did not part ways under the best of circumstances._

_I love you, I do. I love you so very much, my wonderful King. More than I ever thought I could love someone. I miss you and I long to see you, but I don’t know what to do.”_

Traitorous tears force themselves from Bella’s eyes. There it is, the beginning, the end, and the sum of her conflict. Her heart belongs to Thorin, but her head cannot comprehend leaving the Shire. 

_“I don’t know what to do. I love you and I want to be with you, but I do not know if I can leave everything I’ve ever known and live amongst your people. I’m not a skilled craftsman, or a miner, or anything that might be considered useful. I fear not being able to find acceptance amongst them, or worse, us parting ways and me not having a home to which I can return. And yet, I ache to be at your side. Do you see my dilemma?_

_Please have no doubts about my feelings for you, but also understand that I am faced with a remarkably difficult decision. I am trying to find the best solution, but it is taking some time._

_With love always,  
Bella Baggins”_

Bella flaps the parchment around until the ink dries, folds it into its leather skin, and sets it aside carefully. More tears fall onto the desk, seeping around the grains of the wood. She sobs and sobs, much harder than she had upon receiving Thorin’s first letter. The baldness of the truth stings at her heart. It’s been weeks since she arrived home, and she’s no less muddled than when she left Erebor. 

She eventually gathers herself and goes about her daily errands, giving false smiles and reassurances to anyone who inquires as to why she looks “tired.” After sending the turtledove on its way with a pang, Bella goes to bed early. 

The next day is easier, as is the day after that, as are the five days following. Bella attends a splendid birthday party for one of her Took cousins, and a group of her old playmates gather around a table and talk about old times. Bella surely pulls a muscle laughing at some of their sillier childhood antics. She does go home, quite late that night, present tucked under her arm and legs sore from dancing. After stoking up a barely-there fire, she slumps into her arm chair. The peace and quiet wash over her, and she drifts off to sleep. 

Sleep which once again is ended by a tap-tap-tap on the window. She does not speak to the bird this time, feeling both grumpy for falling asleep still laced into her stay and concerned about what the letter might contain. With no small amount of restraint, she forces herself not to read it until she’s changed and had a spot of breakfast. The turtledove curls up on the windowsill, tucking its head under one wing, awaiting instructions. 

_“Dear Bella,_

_I am so relieved to hear that your feelings are unchanged, though I unsure if I am deserving of such grace. I love you so dearly, my beautiful little hobbit._

_Take the time you need to make your decision. Think long and hard, and you will certainly find the right answer, whatever it may be, in the end. You are wise, courageous, and good, as I said before. A dying man can speak no lies, after all._

_I must say one thing, not to sway your decision, but merely so you make it with eyes fully open. Do not think of coming to live under the Mountain as dwelling amongst unwelcoming strangers. You are thought of with great respect by all the dwarves that live here, and if anyone thinks otherwise of you or any other Company member, it is they who will no longer be welcome. The Company themselves would also be more than happy to have you return._

_I understand the camaraderie of friends and admirers likely does not compare to the closeness of one’s family, but again, I only want you to have all the information you need._

_Fili and Kili grow better by the day, and the others are all faring well._

_With love,  
\- Thorin Oakenshield”_

Bella feels a warm relief spread through her. She traces a thumb over the blocky script, lifts parchment to catch a faint, musky scent, and slips it into her pocket. She takes a massive handful of seed from the drawer and spreads it over the counter. The turtledove awakens and hops down to peck away at the proffered breakfast. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you so,” Bella says softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Would you mind coming back in a week?” 

The turtledove coos in reply, and Bella leaves it to go find her walking-stick. She has some pondering to do. 

* * * 

After three days, Bella makes a very difficult, but hopefully right decision. 

She may have emphasized time and time again on the journey that the Shire is her home, and always will be. She does care for her family and friends, and holds Hobbiton traditions dear, and will always miss the gurgle of the Brandywine and the soft grass hills and the warmth of the breeze, but she must go. As much as she loves her home, it will never be a happy one if she spends the rest of her days in lonely regret. 

The decision is made easier on the fourth day, when news spreads throughout her family like seeds on the wind, and blatant disapproval is as clear as polite folk can make it. Letting it slip to a sour-mouthed Lobelia that she’s leaving for the love of a dwarf man makes her good as disinherited. Partly as a result of _that_ lovely conversation, she has a long talk with the Gaffer and his wife. The day ends with her writing out and signing a contract that will leave Bag End technically in her possession, but in the care and use of the Gamgees indefinitely. 

She’s properly disinherited by the fifth day. The rumour spreads that hat she’s gone mad, and many come to disbelieve her tales of adventure.In spite of that, young Primula Brandybuck, shadowed a somewhat doe-eyed Drogo Baggins, drop by to voice their subversive approval and promise to send letters by pony-post as long as she sends them back. Primula especially finds the whole thing “terribly romantic.” Bella is waylaid by affection, and does nothing for the rest of the day but have long cups of tea and ponder many things. 

The sixth day is spent dividing up her belongings into what she is willing to haul for miles and miles, and what she isn’t. Personal items and clothing automatically fall into the “will” pile, as does her gold, sword, and mithril shirt. Sorting through her books and papers is a painful, protracted process, and worse still is the furniture. Linens of all sorts she will bring with her, they are easy enough to carry, as well a few particularly special knick-knacks, her dishes, and of course, the portraits of her parents. Her mother’s glorybox will be going with her, and after a moment of gritted teeth, so will her writing desk. Bella knows she’ll regret it later, but she wants something of her father’s, and she cannot take the armchair. Much as she’d like to. 

On the seventh day, the turtledove returns once more, and Bella gives it a small mountain of seed while she writes her letter. 

_“Dear Thorin,_

_After no small amount of thought, I have decided to move my residence to Erebor. If you could do me the favour of having lodgings- simple, nothing extravagant -ready for me in advance I would appreciate it enormously. As soon as I am settled, I’ll be taking up a profession of some sort, so don’t set aside money to support me. I can take care of myself. _

_Once you receive this letter, release the bird that’s spent so much time helping us, after you’ve fed it properly, of course. I’ll be leaving tomorrow as soon as I can. Expect me in the usual amount of time._

_With deepest love and affection,  
Bella Baggins”_

Bella ties her letter off and sends the turtledove on its way, watching it disappear with a sigh before padding away to purchase provisions for her trip. 

* * * 

“That’s the last of it!” The Gaffer huffs, throwing a wide sheet over the full-to-bursting cart and grabbing the thick ropes to tie it down. “You take care of yourself, especially on that East road. And send us a letter now and again, won’t you?” 

“Of course I will!” Bella says, grabbing part of the rope and helping bind her belongings to the newly-purchased cart. “And don’t you worry about me, I’ve made the trip before. It won’t be all that difficult.” 

“No, I don’t imagine it will be, with a wizard at your side.” 

“A wizard?” The Gaffer raises an eyebrow and gestures over her shoulder. Bella turns to find a grey-clothed, hunched figure puttering up the lower path in his cart. “Gandalf!” 

“That would be me, yes.” Gandalf says, pulling his pony to a stop and stepping down. In a few strides, he’s standing before the two hobbits. “I see I’ve caught you just as you’re about to leave.” 

“Yes, you have. Funny coincidence, that.” Bella smiles closed-lipped at the wizard, before turning to embrace the Gaffer. He hugs her back, carefully avoiding Sting’s hilt and ignoring the layer of mithril beneath her clothes. “Thank you for everything, I won’t forget you anytime soon.” 

“Nor I you, Miss Baggins.” The Gaffer smiles warmly at her before slipping towards his home with a farewell wave. “Have a safe trip!” 

“Thank you, I will!” Bella waves back, waiting for the Gamgee’s door to close before slowly turning back to Gandalf. “And where are you headed, my friend?” 

“To Bree. I imagine you’re headed the same way?” 

“Indeed I am.” Bella climbs into the seat of her cart, taking her pony’s reins in hand. “We best be off then.” 

“Indeed.” Gandalf takes to his own cart, and the two are on their way. 

Bella tries not to visibly shrink from the stares they receive as they travel through Hobbiton, keeping her eyes fixed on the bobbing point of Gandalf’s hat. The pair travel silently for some time, even after reaching the East-West Road. 

“You know,” Gandalf says at last, looking back over his shoulder at his hobbit companion. “Travelling by yourself, making up the route along the way, that’s awfully Tookish of you.” 

Bella chortles to herself. She did so have a plan, it was just a very loose one. It couldn’t be any worse than following Thorin’s shoddy directions. “I suppose it is.” 

Gandalf nods, taking a long moment’s pause. “Your mother would be very proud.” 

Bella says nothing in reply, for there is nothing to say. If Gandalf hears her persistent sniffles, he certainly doesn’t say anything. 

* * * 

The trip to Rivendell is a long, plodding affair. Bella and Gandalf burn through their supplies of pipe-weed rather quickly, which pleases neither of them. They arrive at Rivendell and linger for several days, before leaving with a delegate of elves who also happen to be on their way to Erebor. Bella’s given up on questioning strange conveniences at this point in her life. 

The second half of the trip is much livelier. The elves are exceptionally friendly and happily field questions about their ways. On nights when her mind spins and she cannot sleep, Bella slips a notebook and quill out of her cart and takes notes. There likely won’t be much use for such writings in Erebor, but she takes down her learnings anyways. 

They are met by wood-elves on one side of Mirkwood, and winter on the other. A pleasant visit is paid to King Bard in the clutch of buildings that is the city of Dale in progress, and finally, a week after Durin’s Day, they approach the gates of Erebor. The enormous statues still stand crumbling, but the front facade has been polished up nicely. A group of what appears to be officials and servants whisk the Rivendell delegation away, revealing a pair of familiar dwarf brothers grinning behind them. 

“Miss Baggins!” Fili and Kili whoop, running to meet her before she can even properly get down. They embrace Bella, scooping her up in their strong arms, and press matching, smacking kisses to her cheeks. Bella is rendered speechless, both by the fervent display of affection and that they’re able to run at all, let alone run to greet her. Last she saw them, they were bandaged and barely conscious. 

Kili holds tight to Bella’s shoulder while Fili moves to clasp Gandalf’s hand. “Thank you for escorting her, we’ve all been rather worried since Thorin got the letter.” 

“No trouble at all,” Gandalf says with a small smile, which fades when he turns to Bella. “This is where I must leave you, my friend. I have business elsewhere that I must attend.” 

“Will we ever see each other again?” Bella takes a step away from Kili, peering up through the harsh light of the late afternoon sun. Her hand instinctively brushes the bump of the ring in her front pocket, and the movement registers as a sad glint in Gandalf’s eyes. 

“Of course. We’ve hardly seen the last of each other, my friend.” He dips down and embraces her, woolen scarf scratching at her cheek. Bella forces back the tears, noting that she’s going to be doing an awful lot of hugging in the next little while. The dwarves behind her remain uncharacteristically silent, and wave Gandalf off along with her. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside before you catch cold.” Fili slips his arm around Bella’s shoulders, leading her towards the gates. Now they’re both a little calmer, she can’t help but notice the absence of his third finger. It worries her, but Thorin would never allow them out if they weren’t sufficiently recovered. 

“Uncle’s supervising the restoration of the crypts on top of hosting the elves,” Kili says brightly, taking the pony’s leads, guiding it and her belongings inside. “So you two won’t be able to meet today. He’ll be so excited when he hears you’ve arrived, too.” 

“Oh, that’s quite alright! I’m a bit of a mess at the moment, anyways.” Bella wipes at the thin coating of travel muck she’s accumulated since leaving Bag End. 

“Oh Bella, you’re as pretty as a picture!” Fili pinches her cheek and she swats him away and they all laugh like nothing’s changed. She stays close to them as they make a sharp left after entering the mountain and follow a winding thoroughfare, feeling their warmth seep into her and fill her heart. 

“We’ll have to give you the grand tour some other time,” Fili says, a little mournfully. “We’ve come so far in so little time, though there’s still a lot of work to be done.” 

“So don’t go wandering, we don’t want to lose you down a mineshaft!” Kili tweaks her nose and laughs at her protests. “Oh! And there’s going to be a party held in your honour tomorrow night! The whole Company will be there!” 

“How did you know to make it tomorrow?” 

“We knew you’d be showing up any day now, so everyone’s kept their plans clear.” Fili stops and takes a key from his pocket. “Here we are! Your new home sweet home!” 

Bella hadn’t even realized they were in front of a house. Now she notices square, dark windows and a sturdy oaken door set into the rock wall. Kili halts the pony and Fili opens the door, waving her in. It’s a smart little place, once the lanterns are lit. Neither overly small nor excessively large. A stubby entrance hall leads into a cozy parlour. Which in turn, has many doors branching off to a small kitchen with a cavernous pantry, a dining room, a bedroom, a washroom, and a spare room that would make a perfect study. The bed, tables, chairs, and other such basics are already in place, and the shelves beck to be filled. 

“You’ve even got full plumbing!” Fili says, wide grin matching his brother’s as they follow Bella’s bright-eyed exploration of her new home. “Do you like it?” 

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Bella replies, sighing with contentment. “Absolutely perfect! I’ll have to repay your uncle for this, it’s really too much.” 

“Good luck with that!” Kili scoffs as he returns to the cart. For the next several hours, Fili and Kili insist on helping Bella move her things inside, and Bella fusses over them to no end, though they pay her little heed. 

“That’s the last of it,” Fili breathes, setting the crate of well-wrapped china on the kitchen floor. “We’ll take your pony to the stables for you. Bofur and Bifur are actually just next door, so if you need directions or anything else, just go knock on their door. Do you need help with anything else before we go?” 

“Oh, no! That’s quite alright!” Bella pushes sweaty curls from her brow, buzzing around the room. The boys seemed as strong and sturdy as before, but she had not missed how Fili scratched at his chest, the stem-to-stern scar there surely irritated by all the lifting. Or how Kili’s arm, which may or may not still be bound, she cannot tell, is now trembling constantly, despite his efforts to stop it. “I can take it there, if you tell me where it is. If you’ll wait just a little longer, I have some provisions, I can make you supper! You must be starv-oh!” Bella’s mouth falls open on an embarrassing yawn. 

A glance passes between the brothers and before Bella can question it, they’ve lifted her up by the arms and spirited her away to the bedroom. 

“I’m getting rather tired of your manhandling, you know!” Bella chastises once she’s been dropped unceremoniously onto the bed. 

“Get some rest, burglar.” Fili pulls her in to drop a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Can’t have you nodding off at your party tomorrow!” Kili does the same, and they’re gone, front door clicking shut behind their laughter. Bella finds herself feeling suddenly and dreadfully alone as she shuffles around putting out the lights. Her head spins, her heart aches, her stomach lurches, but her eyes are shutting themselves. She shimmies out of her clothes and under the blankets. Between one breath and another, she’s fast asleep. 

* * * 

Bella awakens around noon the next day, momentarily bewildered by her surroundings. She indulges herself in a hearty breakfast, having enough provisions to last her a few days before she has to find out where you purchase groceries in Erebor. While padding around and procrastinating on getting dressed, she finds an envelope slipped under her door. 

_“Morning, Burglar!_

_Hope you got your forty winks! Uncle’s going try and excuse himself a little early so he can prepare for your party tonight. He’d be so pleased if you two could meet up beforehand! Go to his rooms at about 4 o’clock, he should be arrive shortly afterwards._

_The party is set to start at 7 o’clock, by the way, see you there!_

_\- Fili and Kili”_

A set of rather smartly drawn pictorial directions follow, and a plain, sturdy key is tucked in the envelope. Bella taps the stone floor with her foot. She doesn’t want her first meeting with Thorin to be a silly set-up courtesy of his nephews. But if it was something they’d cooked up, they would never have been able to swipe the key off Thorin or his guards. 

Prank or no, Bella concludes that meeting Thorin before the party is the only way to avoid several hours of awkward, longing glances. She takes a lengthy bath in an inset marble tub, spends perhaps a little too much time choosing an outfit, and leaves, after a lingering glance at the portraits hanging over her mantle. 

She follows the directions laid out for her, stopping to sneak glance after glance over the railings down into the swirling depths of the mountain. Eager to see, but at the same time, almost wanting to save the sights for later. She bumps into no dwarves, though she pass lit windows beside her and see movement far below, until she enters the palace proper. Even then, it’s only a few guards who do a slight double-take before nodding her on. It breeds confidence in her, she must be expected if they’re allowing her in. . 

Bella tries the door before slipping the key in the lock, takes a deep breath, and pushes it open. 

The door opens to an enormous sitting room, sparsely furnished, with a wide fireplace, and blindingly lit a by a few large windows on the opposite wall. On her far left is a single, wide door that is locked shut. On the far right wall is two doors, both open. The closer one leads to a short hallway follow by a slightly smaller room, empty and only half-whitewashed, apparently abandoned temporarily in favour of some other project. The other leads to a large dining room containing a set of splendidly crafted table and chairs, followed by a kitchen and pantry. 

“Why would a king have need of a kitchen?” Bella says to herself, nearly tempted to further her exploration into opening cupboards and drawers. Thorin, in one of their long chats under the stars, had spoken of the grand palace kitchen and the delicious meals the cooks produced. It was possible that, since everyone was focused on the restoration, the kitchens were not yet in operation and everyone was meant to fend for themselves. But then, why go to the trouble of having a small one built in his rooms? 

Bella leaves the kitchen and opens the last door, opposite from the fireplace, and is met by a gust of winter wind. She hurries out, shutting the door behind her. This is the highest of the stately balconies. From the edge of it, she can see the burgeoning city of Dale squaring its shoulders against the early-setting sun, the lapping hills that surround the mountain, and if she squints, the thick forests of Mirkwood. 

It’s a breathtaking view, and distracts her enough that she stands in awe for several minutes before realizing she can no longer feel her face. As she darts back to the door, she notices the floor of the balcony is completely covered in a thick layer of soil. Nothing appears to have been grown in it. How odd! 

Bella resolves to ask Thorin a great many questions about his quarters, later. She shuts the balcony door behind her, and despite her best efforts, the sitting room is quite chilly. Feeling slightly out of her bounds as she does so, Bella gets a fire going, and seats her shivering self in a nearby armchair. 

It’s half-past four, then five o’clock, then half-past that and Bella’s nearly sick with nerves when Thorin finally opens the door. 

He doesn’t notice her at first, his movements slow and and his reddened eyes distracted. A tiny gasp escapes Bella’s mouth at his outfit. He’s no longer a Company leader or a scruffy warrior, but a King, with jewels and fur trim and layers upon layers of stunning blue fabric. Neither the fine layer of dust covering him, nor the lack of crown takes away from his imposing presence. 

But far, far more impressive than any article of clothing, is the immeasurable love that floods his face and lights his eyes when they land upon the hobbit standing up from his armchair. His voice is like leather, noticeably rough around the edges. “Bella, you have come back!” 

Warmth rushes through her body, and her heart clenches and pounds. It’s as natural as laughter to run to him as he runs to her, to be pressed impossibly close by tree-trunk arms and kissed deeply by bearded lips. Thorin’s knees buckle and drop them both onto the Warg-skin rug at their feet. 

“My burglar, my hobbit, _my own,-_ ” Thorin groans between kisses along her neck. Bella’s saying something in reply against Thorin’s hair. Something with a lot of yes’s and loving terms and Thorin’s name over and over, as clothes slip away and skin slides against scarred skin. There are no distractions, no intellectual thoughts, nothing but the heat of the roaring fire and gasped breaths and the so very long-awaited caress of the other that builds to a peak, crashes over, and yields to an all-consuming peace... 

Bella lazily blinks awake, saliva cracking at the edge of her lips and her cheek pressed against the coarse, light hair of Thorin’s inner arm. Bella rolls, careful not to disturb the cocoon of Thorin’s heavy outercoat laying over them, and her eyes fall upon the window. Stars shimmer through the glass. It’s fully dark now, probably around seven or- 

“The party!” Bella gasps, jumping up and smacking Thorin’s chest. “Thorin, Thorin! Wake up! Oh, we must be so late!” 

Thorin lurches awake, growling a few words in his rock-hewn tongue before following suit in hurried redressing. They bump into each other a few times, and Bella snaps out a few Hobbitish curses when she’s laced her stay only to realize she’s wearing Thorin’s undershirt, not her shift. They rush through the halls and thoroughfares as quickly as they can- “A king can’t be seen running around his kingdom, please understand.” -and pause, smoothing themselves down before the doors of the hall to which Thorin has directed them. 

“They’re hardly the most punctual lot, we’re probably the third or fourth ones here.” Thorin assures, then pushes open the large door to reveal a long table of twelve dwarves clutching mugs of ale and smiling at them in wry silence. Thorin, to his credit, avoids blushing by sheer force of will. 

“ _Burglar!_ ” the cry goes up after a moment. They all dive upon Bella, some lifting her overhead as if she were the winner of some tournament. Bella yelps and clutches at herself, keeping her pocket shut and her skirts down. Balin, she thinks, at last calls for her to be “put down, for goodness’ sakes!” 

Those holding her aloft obey, setting her down gently. Not a second later, Bella is being embraced, tightly and with great care by every last one of them, and cheekily smooched by a select few (Nori gets a chastising pinch, Bofur does not). She’s jostled over to the head of the table, Thorin at her side, and to her great embarrassment, Fili and Kili insist on making a toast. 

“-And since our dear Bella Baggins has agreed to come all this way and dwell in Erebor, for how long?” Fili bends down, gesturing to her with his mug. 

“As long as I’m wanted,” Bella says, cheeks thoroughly rosy by this point. 

“Forever!” Kili chimes in. “So let us drink to,-” 

The brothers go on for quite some time, no thanks to ad libbing from the others. Finally, they all chug their drinks, Bella included, although she knows she’ll pay for it tomorrow, and give another great cheer. Food is served, courtesy of Bombur, and a great many inquiries are made of her through open mouthfuls. Bella raises no complaints, for the questions are genuine, if a little unpolished in manner, in contrast to the polite prods of Hobbiton residents. 

Though she drinks too much, gets her foot trod on during a few impromptu dances, and nearly goes deaf from all the noise, Bella is not satisfied until she converses with each and every dwarf. Learning of young Ori’s unprecedented appointment to the position of King’s Scribe, Bofur’s recent engagement to a certain star-haired thief, how much Gimli has grown up since Gloin last saw him, and so on. 

Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori, and Thorin Oakenshield. In the midst of them all, Bella knows, she’s made the right decision. 

* * * 

At a truly ghastly hour of the morning, the party disperses. Or rather, the rowdier guests pass out one after another, and the more conservative set shake their heads and shuffle home, chuckling all the way. Thorin insists on walking Bella back to her new home, and Bella permits it because he’s a great deal steadier on his feet than she is, at the moment. 

After much giggled conversation and stumbling, they arrive at Bella’s door. The time it takes to find her key nearly embarrasses Bella. She slips it into the lock, and feels a broad hand press low on her back. 

“May I warm your bed this night, my dear burglar?” Thorin whispers, kissing the skin just below her ear. 

A shiver runs through her, but a wall of logic goes up in Bella’s mind, sobering her rapidly. “No, Thorin. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Thorin draws back, looking crestfallen. “You flinched away from my hand at the party as well, and yet, earlier this evening- Bella, what is the meaning of this? You said your feelings were unchanged. Did you lie to me?” 

“No, of course I didn’t lie to you!” Bella snaps up at him, then touches her forehead when it throbs. “What you did,-what happened between us, it hasn’t left my mind, alright? And it won’t be leaving for some time.” 

Thorin’s face turns openly stricken, and Bella’s heart aches in spite of her. “I frightened you, I hurt you terribly, I know I did! I will apologize every day for the rest of my life, if you wish it. But you must understand that it was the goldsickness! I would have never behaved that way of my own accord. I’ll admit, I was foolish to think myself immune, and I’ve taken steps against it now. I firmly believe, that as long as I am diligent, it will not return. Please, you must believe-” 

“Thorin!” Bella ends his tirade, reaching up and taking his face in her hands. “I do believe you! I would not have returned if I didn’t! But you did scare me, and hurt me...and break my trust. It will take some time to earn it back. Does you understand?” 

Thorin nods slowly, blue eyes turning steely though he does lift his hands to cover hers. 

“I know I broke your trust as well, though we did talk an awful lot about that before I had to leave with Gandalf.” Bella says softly, running her thumbs over Thorin’s cheeks. “But now that we’re together again, and there isn’t a dragon or a battle to fight, we can slow down and take time for _us_. Really get to know each other in every sense. That’s good, isn’t it?” 

“I...suppose it is.” Thorin’s hands drop to rest lightly on Bella’s waist. 

“Well, you certainly seem convinced.” Bella snorts, lowering her hands to his upper arms. “Is there some law about you needing to have a Queen that you haven’t told me about? Is that why you proposed?” 

“No! No, that’s not why, nothing like that.” Thorin’s jaw tenses and his eyes scrunch up, aging his face. “It’s the matter of...I’m afraid of insulting you if I explain it.” 

“Just say it, and I’ll tell you if you need to apologize.” Bella feels a nasty headache welling up behind her eyes. She really ought to go to bed. 

“Very well.” Thorin visibly stiffens, his grip on her waist tightening minutely. “I desire to have children with you. And I fear if we spend too long courting, it will be too late once we are actually married.” 

“Oh! Is that all?” Bella says with a tinkling laugh. “You have nothing to fear, Thorin. Hobbits tend to be rather prolific parents, my mother’s mother had twelve healthy children altogether.” 

Thorin’s eyes widen, appearing almost childlike. “ _Twelve?_ ” 

“We’re resilient creatures,” Bella boasts, chest puffing out as she pats her stomach. “I’ve got at least twenty fertile years left, we’ve got plenty of time to sort ourselves out and have a baby, or two or three.” 

“...Good,” Thorin hums low in his chest, kissing the top of her head and resting his cheek there. “Perhaps Beorn was right, maybe you are a rabbit after all.” 

“You stop that!” Bella swipes at Thorin’s chest, then pulls his smiling mouth down for a firm kiss. “Perhaps we can have a proper conversation tomorrow, over a late supper?” 

“That could most certainly be arranged,” Thorin kisses the corner of her mouth. The pair share several more kisses before parting, and unbeknownst to them for many years, both collapse into bed with their clothes still on. 

* * * 

“What a story!” Thrain says with a wide smile, keeping his eye on the carrots he’s chopping. “Why haven’t you ever told us that part before, Mama?” 

“Yeah!” Holly crows from her spot on the floor, peeling potatoes over a bucket alongside Willow. “That was really neat! I didn’t know you used to have a magic bird!” 

“It wasn’t magic,” Bella chuckles, shaking her head as she checks on the roast. “Just ah, well-trained, I suppose, and terribly kind.” She stands and stirs the soup, wistful look on her face. “And I skimmed over it before partly because your father wanted you all to be a little older before he told you about goldsickness, and partly because it isn’t very interesting.” 

“I think it’s very interesting!” Thrain insists with a breathless laugh. There’s a moment of quiet, Bella working at the stew and Thrain at his carrots, before he speaks again. “So tell us, what happened after that night?” 

“I woke up with a dreadful headache,” Bella says with a derisive chuckle, dashing some spices into the pot. “We had many long conversations that are really and truly boring to retell, and we attended Nori and Bofur’s wedding a few weeks later. Your father was wonderfully sensitive towards me that day. That was our first real step in the right direction.” 

“Sensitive how?” Willow inquires in her soft voice, laying her foot over her sister’s as they continue peeling. “You always cry at weddings, were you sobbing very hard?” 

“No,- Well, I was weepy, but that wasn’t it.” Bella scrapes the spoon at the stubborn noodles congealing at the bottom of the pot. “No one informed me beforehand on how dwarf weddings proceed. So when they started taking their clothes off and no one reacted, I thought I was losing my mind.” 

“Oh no!” Thrain claps a hand over his mouth. “The union ceremony, of course! Hobbits don’t have any similar customs, do they?” 

“Nothing of the sort!” Bella stirs even harder, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Your father realized it instantly, and explained it all to me in a whisper. He apologized for assuming things were done the same way in the Shire, and that was something, to hear him say that in those days. But more than that, I knew then he wasn’t trying to sculpt me into a fake dwarrowdam, he loved me just as I was. I really was his dear little hobbit.” 

“How thoroughly romantic!” Thrain says on a half-sigh. He will deny a great many things about his father, but Thorin’s love for his mother is not one of them. 

“Ugh, gag me with a spoon.” Holly mutters, with a deliberate roll of her glassy eyes purely to make Willow giggle. 

“Watch your mouth, young one!” Bella calls over her shoulder in a warning voice, then continues in her usual storytelling tone. “By the time we were wedded five years later, I was much more accustomed to the ways of dwarves. Once I was certain the onlookers really didn’t think anything of that portion of the ceremony, I tried not to either. How my father would have been scandalized! My mother, as well, but he would have already had a _stroke_ at this whole marrying-a-dwarf-king business. The ceremony itself would put him right over the edge. Rest their weary souls!” 

“Hobbits seem so much more _chaste_ than dwarves,” Willow observes, voice distracted. Thrain smirks in spite of himself. The girls might have missed the brief allusions of passion in Bella’s simplified brush over her and Thorin’s reunion, but he hadn’t, unfortunately. 

“So, what’s the moral of the story, Mama?” Thrain asks, eager to get those unpleasant images out of his head. 

“Who told you every story has to have a moral?” Bella wags her stirring spoon as him, drops of broth landing on his rolled-up sleeve. “Dangerous notion, that is.” 

“There must’ve been a reason for you to tell us now,” Holly says, tugging on her mother’s skirt and holding up the peeler, having finished. “You sure seemed set on sticking to that story, instead of going off on a tangle.” 

“Tangent, love.” Bella corrects gently, taking the peeler and ruffling her youngest’s curls. She gives the soup another long stir, and Thrain looks over to find a pensive expression on her face just before it breaks into a little smile. “You want a moral? Alright then, how about ‘that which is worth having is not easily gained?’” 

“That’ll do!” Holly agrees, pushing herself up and hauling the pot of peeled potatoes over to the counter with her. 

“It’s a rather dwarvish sort of moral,” Willow muses, wiping her hands before carrying the bucket of peelings off to the garden. “Maybe you do have a little dwarrowdam in you after all, Mama.” 

“Perhaps I do!” Bella smiles and checks on the roast again. She’s quiet again for a long moment. “You could also take a second meaning from the story, if you don’t mind squinting to find it.” 

“What meaning would that be?” Thrain says, chest filling with a laugh when Holly latches tight to his leg after passing him the potatoes. He hurries to chop them. Amara, Thror, and Father will be home soon, Frodo and Dis would eventually leave the library, Terra is sure to reappear from wherever she’d gone, and everyone will certainly be hungry. 

“It would be, ‘you can’t always look to other people to find the right decision, sometimes you have to find it in yourself.’” 

Thrain turns to find his mother giving him a soft, sad sort of look and understands. He leans over, very carefully avoiding the mess of utensils and food, and presses a kiss to her curls, grown long, white, and braided since those early days. His thumb touches her Durin marriage bead, and he hopes. 

**_ FIN _ **


	14. Journey Through The Past: The Happenings of an Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have dropped some subtle hints as to what exactly happened to Thrain. Now is your time to find out. We look into Thrain's past, from when he was just a young dwobbit, to a past romance gone wrong, and finally a few months after a dark twist in Thrain's life. This chapter will help you understand exactly why Thrain is so "touchy" with things, and why certain things can trigger him.
> 
> EDIT: We're so sorry for not marking WHERE this could trigger people, so I am updating that now! :) 
> 
> Where the * is, is where the triggering beginds. ** is where it ends. :3 Asterisks will be bolded!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEWARE! If you get squeamish from violence, non-consensual sex, suicide and blood, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! 
> 
> I REPEAT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

"Despite What You’ve Been Told" 

Part One:

Sometimes, being King Under the Mountain was a real pain. 

Thorin has been home, but only physically speaking. He has a treaty to sign with one of the smaller dwarf colonies, and an important one at that. It meant his people would have a guaranteed source of food in the harsher seasons, and the colony would have access to an army and weapons. Of course, this meant he’d been in his study for _days_ just trying to close every loophole and ensure fairness for both sides. 

Now, of course, Thorin knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his very curious son out of there for too long. Bella had already mentioned how antsy he was getting, even pacing around the halls for two hours straight. Thorin wants to see his son as much as anything, but this contract needs to be finished by the early tomorrow morning. He is so close to finishing that he can practically hear the giggles of a small halfling and the sizzling of bacon. Thorin subtly wipes his mouth at that last thought, along with a few others that sound just as… _delicious_. 

The creak of a door opening woke Thorin slowly from his thoughts as slow and cautious steps come towards him. A slim voice, fragile and utterly sweet arises from his tiny halfling. “H-Hello Papa. I brought you some cookies and a present…” 

Thorin smiles at the way Thrain makes sure to ‘hide’ the paper face-down on the floor, before trying to jump to get the plate into the king’s hand. Ever since the lad was born, he’s been unusually small. The healer had said it was probably the hobbit in him, but Thorin never stopped worrying. Especially when the other children would tease Thrain at the altar. 

He takes the plate from small hands, not afraid to smile when the bits of chocolate in the cookies are shaped into a heart. “They look wonderful Thrain, thank you.” 

Thorin sets the cookies aside, picking his son to sit him down on the large desk, far away from the contract and the open bottle of ink. He loves the boy dearly, but Thrain can be a bit of a klutz sometimes. The scrapes on the lad’s knees are proof. “And what else have you brought me, my dear little hobbit?” 

The slight blush on Thrain’s cheeks only makes Thorin smile wider. How, on this wide Earth, was he blessed with such a innocent son? He prays to Mahal that Thrain always stays this way. “I-I brought you a picture, Papa! I drew it myself!” The broken-up way he says ‘picture’ makes Thorin’s heart ache, and he tickling the small one’s ribs to procure an adorable giggle. 

Thrain proudly shoves the picture in Thorin’s direction, presenting him with a crude, child’s drawing of Thorin, Bella, and- Wait. Who is that holding Thrain? “Lad, who is that? The one who’s holding you?” 

“That’s my guardian, Papa! He saved me in my night terror last night.” 

His ‘guardian?’ What on earth does the boy mean? As if on cue, Thrain slips carefully into his Papa’s lap, pointing at a piece of scrap paper as he politely asks for it. Thorin moves things carefully away, making room for Thrain’s drawing. With sticks of dirty, coloured wax he retrieves from his pockets, Thrain draws a large circle, two blue-green eyes, a ‘Papa nose’ as he once called it, followed by a yellow beard and- Oh no. Oh **no.** How? How does he know? How _could_ he? 

“He was so nice, Papa. He told me to say hello to you! So, hello Papa!” Thrain giggles, drawing a glow around the man and some misshaped hearts. “He gave me a big kiss on the cheek, and told me that I was his little friend! Isn’t that nice, Papa?” Thrain’s smile fades away as he turns to look sternly towards his Papa. “When my dream got really scary, and the hooded men were out to get me, he rode in on his horse and _scooped_ me up! He said that he was your-” 

“That’s _enough_ , Thrain!” The anger that wells in Thorin’s chest replaces the happiness within moments. His own son was trying to make a fool out of him! Trying to make him think that- No. Don’t even _think_ about it! “I will not have you making up stories about him, Thrain! You’ve never even met him!” 

“But Papa,” Thrain’s shoulders bunch, quickly becoming frightened of his Papa. “I don’t know who he is! I asked for his name and he told me to-” 

“The man that you have described is my brother, Frerin! Your uncle. He died long before you were even thought of! Do not try and fool me into thinking that he just ‘appeared’ in one of your dreams!” Thorin grips Thrain’s arm, making the small boy whimper. “Who told you about him? Did your aunt put you up to this? I’ll set her straight, I swear it!” 

“No! He was in my dream, Papa! Promise!” 

“What in Yavanna’s Forest is going on here!” 

They both freeze momentarily, but Thorin shoves Thrain into his wife’s arms as soon as she’s beside them. “Here! Take him away at once, and put him in his room with no supper! I have no patience for a son that _lies_ to his own father!” 

Bella frowns, crossing her arms as she taps her foot in annoyance. “What do you mean, he lied? Thorin, our son has never lied to us about anything!” 

The king stomps towards his desk, grabbing the drawings. He shoves them in her face, thinking she’ll be able to make sense of the whole situation just by looking at them. He sighs, rubbing his face with his large hand. “He told me that he saw my brother in his dream! My little brother, who passed away sixty-four years before Thrain was even born! How could he possibly have seen him _perfectly_ in a dream?”

Bella stands still for a moment, setting her son gently on the floor and giving her husband a glare that could kill a thousand elves. “The Maker works in mysterious ways, Thorin. Perhaps he wanted Thrain to-” 

“So you believe him? There is no way that Thrain could have possibly seen him, Bella!” Thorin glares at his son, making Thrain shrink even smaller. He was almost in a ball on the floor. 

Thrain squeaks a small “Ow!” when Thorin pulls him up, making him stand straight with his shoulders square and his chest out. The large man points at his heir, his finger shaking as his voice cracked like thunder. “You will march yourself to your room, not make a single sound, and sort out every last one of your practice reports for the past month until they are done. You do not _sleep_ until those reports are done, understood?” Thorin jabs his finger at Thrain’s chest. Thrain touches the spot as tears well up in his eyes. 

“A-alright, P-Papa.” The sniffles and the cracking of Thrain’s voice breaks Thorin’s heart, but the boy needs to understand that lying is wrong and will be punished. Thorin will not have him lying to his parents, especially. The small dwarfling sniffles his way out of the room. Thorin looks to his queen, who has murder in her eyes. 

“Are you going to explain to me why you scared your son to death? If he said he saw Frerin in his dream, that’s that! Just because you’re still dealing with grief doesn’t mean that you get to shut down and scream at him until he’s in tears! Mahal made you a wonderful king, but you can be such an ass sometimes!” She storms out of the room, spinning around as she gets to the door. “If you don’t apologize and explain to Thrain how you feel, I will make sure that we have separate rooms. The children of the mighty Thorin Oakenshield will stop at two!” 

Thorin tries to interject, but Bella slams the door behind her, Hobbitish curses flying out like he’s never heard. The large study is deathly quiet, making Thorin the most uncomfortable he’s been in years. He sits back down at his desk, gripping his quill tight as he finishes the large contract to completion. 

Thorin is about to go speak to his son when Dwalin opens the door. He barely gets a word in when Dwalin shoves him back roughly, giving him the same look Bella had earlier. 

“You know, when I was sent for by one of your servants, I thought it was an emergency. I thought one of the little ones was hurt.” Dwalin laughs bitterly, before frowning at Thorin. “I didn’t think I was going to have to comfort one of them because his Papa gave him trouble for having a dream about his uncle.” 

“Dwalin, I was upset! If Thrain told you he saw Fundin in his dream, and drew an exact caricature of him, what would you have done?” 

“Asked if my father had a message to pass along, because there’s no possible reason as to why Thrain would make that up.” 

The room is pointedly silent for a few moments, before Dwalin sighs. “Thorin, I know you still blame yourself for Frerin’s passing away, but you have to believe that it wasn’t your fault! You were nowhere near him when he joined Mahal.” 

“Which is _why_ I blame myself.” Thorin’s voice is almost not heard, but Dwalin brings him close, hugging him with one arm. For the first time in a long time, Thorin accepts his friend’s embrace. The older dwarf steps back after a moment, just enough to look Thorin in the eye as he speaks. 

“I know you miss him, we all miss him dearly. But it was no one’s fault but the orcs’! He would have hated you carrying this burden for sixty-four long years.” The king looks up at the giant that is his top guard, giving him a broken smile. “Now I think you need to go apologize to your boy. The poor thing’s stomach is making sounds I didn’t even know could be made by dwarf or hobbit!” 

Both of them laughed, just a little, before leaving the dreary study for the small room on the other side of the home. 

The men find Thrain’s door open, and Thorin briefly thinks that he might have left to get a drink of water, but frowns as he remembers what he told Thrain. The boy probably hasn’t even left his room to use the lavatory. Oh, what has he _done_? His son probably doesn’t even want to see his face, let alone hear his voice. He hopes that Bella is in the room with him. Maybe she went against Thorin’s foolish edict and brought Thrain some supper? 

Once again, Thorin is glad that his dear hobbit didn’t blindly obey his commands. She holds onto the small child, rocking him back and forth on her lap. Thorin swallows hard when Thrain looks up with sleepy eyes and smiles at him. Bella’s look is still stern, but she does grant him a genuine smile. Good. The last thing he wanted was to lose his beautiful wife in all but name. He also wanted as many children as they could, after all, Frerin always wanted a large family. 

“Hello, Papa. All the reports are filed from the start of the month to the end, in alp’abetical order. Mama just gave me some of her soop and bread! Mama makes the best soop and bread.” Just by the little one’s up-and-down voice, Thorin knew he was tired. His eyes were slightly red and dark circles were forming under them again. 

“Love, it’s pronounced ‘soup,’ not ‘soop.’” Thorin chuckles low, taking Thrain into his arms. “I’ve come to apologize to you, little one. I behaved so cruelly towards you over something that was so minor.” 

Thrain smiles quickly, but looks down such a sad face. If Thorin had to wake up the best confectionist in Dale, Thorin would do it, just to get his little hobbit’s smile back where it belongs. “It’s okay, Papa. I’m sorry I dis’pointed you.” 

Thorin gently pulls Thrain slightly away, concerned eyes finding his sons’. “Thrain, what do you mean?” 

Thrain moved his foot back and forth, fiddling with his hands as he speaks quietly. "You said you didn't want to talk about Uncle-" Thrain stops himself, eyes going wide. Thorin's heart breaks. He didn't mean Thrain could never _mention_ Frerin again. "I asked about him when you didn't want me to. I'm sorry, Papa." 

Bella gives Thorin a death glare, her face clearly instructing Thorin to correct what he has done.  
Thorin sighs, taking his son in his arms again. "Thrain, I'm sorry for how I acted. I lost your uncle in a horrible way. You wouldn't understand the feeling of holding your flesh and blood in your hands as he- passes away. Nor should you. It still pains me to this day. Picture yourself holding your Mama as she leaves to go be with Yavanna." 

The look on Thrain's face makes Thorin quickly wave Bella over, letting her hold her son. Thrain lets out a shaky breath as he clings to her. "That will never happen ever! Mama will stay with me forever!" 

The king smiles at his tiny hobbit prince, running his hands through his hair as the boy had always liked. "The feeling you had just now is what I feel every day for your Uncle Frerin. There isn't a single day that I don't think of him. As a matter of fact, you remind me quite a bit of him." 

"I do?" 

"Yes, you do, Thrain." His smile. His laugh. The way his nose scrunched when he didn't like something. The smallest and largest things Thrain did reminded Thorin so terribly much of his brother. Even when he first held Thrain on the night he was born, Thorin had to sit alone with his new son, his thoughts, and hopefully his brother watching them. He still remembers the tears that hit the child's cheeks, and the way Thrain looked at him and gripped his finger tightly, as if to reassure him. 

"Just remember something for me, alright, my little hobbit prince?" 

Thorin sat Thrain on his lap, wiggling his feet to make Thrain giggle. "Alright, Papa." 

Thorin pulls the tiny boy into a hug, making Thrain sigh sweetly as he holds his Papa tight. He kisses his son's cheek and whispers. "Remember that you will _never_ disappoint me. Nothing you could ever do could disappoint me." 

The smile on Thrain’s face makes even Dwalin smile back. He really is just like Frerin, all those years ago. The smile Thrain gives can light up a room, just like his. 

Thrain’s arms find his Papa’s neck, hugging him tightly. As Thorin embraces him once more, he can’t help but think that this small child is a way of having Frerin back in his life. If he is, Thorin would be forever thankful to Mahal. 

The prince smiles into his father’s chest, happy that he isn’t mad at him anymore. He knows that his father was just sad about his brother. The pure love that he’s feeling is filling his small chest, making his grip grow tighter and his heart grow bigger. 

*** 

"Bleeding Out"

Part Two:

Unloved. That was the word that best described the future King of Erebor. Until he met a wonderful, tall, handsome, right-from-a-fairy-tale prince of his own. His brown hair and green-brown eyes could hold a room hostage to their beautiful gaze, and his olive skin was splendidly uncommon in Erebor. He always told Thrain he was from the Iron Hills, but something gave Thrain the idea that that wasn't true. He had to be a gift from Mahal himself. 

Of course, the fellow Thrain was talking about wasn’t _actually_ a prince. Thrain met him in the stables, when he was still only allowed to walk a short distance from the royal quarters while his burns, empty eye socket, and gashes were healing. His smile could steal anyone’s heart, with perfect teeth and lips to match. The nearly thirty-two-year-old prince would make any excuse he could just to go see him. His ‘prince’ may be seventy-nine years of age, making Thrain under-aged by quite a lot, but he loves Thrain. He tells him all the time how much he wants him, and that no other man could _love_ him like _he_ could. 

The stableman’s name was Balri. Thrain loved saying his name, the way his tongue curled as he pronounced it made him shiver with love and lust. Though, if there was one thing that he noticed over time, was the increase in Balri’s desire for him. He didn’t mind, Mahal no! He just didn’t understand why it was so. The young prince was barely home anymore, which always had his mother so upset. To his own distaste, he missed Willow and Holly’s tenth birthday dinner. He apologized profusely to them, but only felt worse when they smiled and told him it was fine. 

This was the last straw for him. Three dinner parties with the Company, two reports handed in days late, and finally, three family birthdays missed. He’s worried about bringing this up to Balri, but he _must_. The young prince knew that Balri had a bit of a...temper. He apologized profusely every time, but he had left bruises and even a re-opened wound on Thrain before. He always covered it up when a healer or a servant would notice, but the look in their eyes… It never stopped hurting him in such a strange way. 

Thrain enters the stable, nerves and anxiety taking over him. It’s almost too quiet in here. Usually there were three other stablemen about, with whom Balri was friends. There were many times that they had gone out for an ale or two at the pub, Thrain not being able to go with them due to “the men feeling awkward with the future king hanging around.” 

Of course, Thrain knew that they just didn’t like _him._ It never mattered to him too much, since some of them sort of, how to say it...made him feel ‘uneasy.’ Like they were eyeing him up from head to toe. It made his anxiety peak, which always bothered Balri terribly. 

“Hello, Thrain.” The slur of his words made Thrain quake in his boots. Why did he feel that way all of a sudden? “I see you’ve brought some of your mother’s cookies. How...cute.” The way that Balri said the last word, short, emotionless, and bitter, made Thrain put the cookies down and immediately go cooing to him. 

“Oh love, what’s wrong? You seem so upset about something!” Thrain’s gentle, loving hands find Balri’s cheek, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. “What would you like to make you feel better? I can give you my share of -oomph!” 

Thrain’s smile disappears when Balri pushes him to the ground, laying on top of him as he kisses his neck, leaving bite marks and bruises. _Again_. Balri’s voice is deep and filled with lust. The first time Balri had ever showed that side of him, he had begged Thrain for some...physical contact. 

Thrain refused that day, for a variety of reasons. But promised that by the end of the week, he would have a clear answer as to when he would like to begin that aspect of their relationship. Alas, Thrain gave in before then, after listening to Balri tell him that he would surely _die_ without Thrain’s seductive kisses and the warm heat from muscles clenching in pleasure. Of course, Thrain had wanted it badly for quite some time, but wanted it to be like a fairy tale. With Balri taking that privilege in his large hands, he felt perfectly fine. 

Balri’s voice sounds like ruined metal as his teeth find Thrain’s earrings, tugging on them roughly as his hands grip for purchase in beautiful hair. The stableman laughs darkly as Thrain moans, his legs now wrapping around his lover’s waist, tightly and full of need. “Oh, Balri…” 

The older man chuckles, quickly licking a line up Thrain’s neck before a quick nip, and his beautiful whisper finds Thrain’s ear. “That’s a good boy. Da’ has a surprise for you.” 

Thrain visibly shakes in anticipation, wondering just what his “da’,” as Balri always told Thrain to call him, had done? Did he make him a sweet gift? A dinner? Or maybe even better, he was going to finally take him out in public, like he always promised! Maybe Thrain could finally introduce him to his family! “You have to close your eyes. Be Da’s good boy.” 

As the older man gets up, Thrain pushes himself into a sitting position, covering his eyes as his smile shone brightly in the dark stall. He doesn’t hear anything for a few minutes. Not even any steps. Thrain makes sure to keep his eyes covered, since he didn’t want to ruin Balri’s surprise. The poor dear, he probably slaved over this for him! But finally, to Thrain’s relief, he hears movement. Judging by the sound, there are four men in total. That was strange. Maybe it was too big for Balri to carry! Oh, maybe he made him something for his room! Thrain had talked about wanting a new desk for writing. 

“Open your eyes, my good boy!” 

The young prince drops his hands, only to take a blow to his face. The three men laugh, Thrain being able to identify them as the other stablemen, Balri’s friends. The boy could feel warm liquid ooze from the bridge of his nose. When he wiped at it, he could feel bone and hot, dark red blood. The pain was intense, making Thrain’s toes curl in his boots. He hated blood. He hated everything about it. Why did they do that?! How could they break his nose? 

“B-Balri! This isn’t w-what I call a surprise! Oh, fuck, it’s everywhere!” The tears fall on their own accord, the laughter only getting stronger as one of the men pushes Thrain’s head to the ground, the other two holding down his arms and legs. **No.** No, what were they doing? Why were they holding him down? Thrain starts to feel his anxiety take over, trying to get him away from them. 

The elder stableman tuts, gripping Thrain’s chin harshly, making an ‘O’ out of his mouth. “Oh dear, did my good boy not like his surprise?” The prince shakes his head slowly, only to receive a disturbing grin. 

*****

“Well then, why don’t I make it up to you? You know the boys, don’t you?” Balri motions towards the sounds of their voices, but Thrain’s petrified eyes never leave Balri. “They all want you just as much as I do! So I’m going to tie you up,” Thrain thrashes his weight, legs kicking around in the air. Balri’s strong hands place Thrain’s wrists on a pole before wrapping them up tightly with thick, coarse leather. “And we can all just pleasure you til’ the sun comes up! Sound good?” 

Thrain shakes his head violently, screaming for any help that would hear. Balri just laughs, forcing his thrashing legs to still. The way that Balri touches him reminds Thrain of the monsters he had always heard about from Mister Dwalin. The ones that would hurt women and take their virtue. “P-please, Balri. Please don’t do this! I-I’ll be a good boy! Whatever I did, I’ll stop! I’ll never do it again, just _please_!” 

Balri just laughs low and hard, tilting his head up as he did so. “Oh, my dear boy, how about you shut up before I knock you out and feed you to orcs?” 

Thrain shivers from head to toe, only making the group of dwarves laugh louder. Out of nowhere, he felt what was left of his courage rage through his vocal cords. “If you go through with this, I will make sure you’re all found guilty of debauchery and have you all killed! Father will-” 

Once again, Balri laughs, spitting in the prince’s face. “Oh really? The same father that doesn’t give a single shit about you? You know what he would really do, Thrain?” Balri leans in close, biting down harshly on the prince’s pulse point, making it bleed slightly. The cry of pain from Thrain only makes the other men hold his limbs tighter, even running a spare hand wherever they’re able. He felt them _everywhere._

“He’d take one look at you, his disgusting, whore of a son, and _you_ would find yourself at the least, exiled from Erebor permanently. Though if I know anything about your father,- and I do, because you’ve told me _so_ much -he’d have you hanged somewhere secret and seal the door so you wouldn’t be able to bring _more_ shame to the line of Durin!” 

The tears come rolling down Thrain’s face, Balri opening his trousers at the front with one hand. Thrain lets out a hard, choked sob as he feels Balri’s hands grab at him. “And the best part is that your little brother and sisters, and you dear halfling mother would finally know what you really are.” 

Everything from that last sentence on feels like a horrible, painful blur. Their roaming hands, the weight of their bodies as they all viciously take away his dignity and pride…But the worst thing that they all did, was leave him in the same spot, tied up and covered in their fluids as they laughed and carried on like it was all a good joke. An extremely funny joke about a whore prince who was taken by four men for a cheap laugh. 

Mahal above, he prays over and over that he will die in this stall. He prays that no one would find him. His thoughts are interrupted as he felt blood ooze from his nose and run into the empty socket where his eyes once rested, the beautiful leather patch ripped off in their “joke.” 

The crown prince lets hot tears mix with the filth of it all. Why did he ever pick Balri? Even worse, why did he let Balri _win_? He should have handled it like his father or Mister Dwalin would have! They wouldn’t have even been touched, they would have brought out a hidden knife or weapon and fought them. They would have told them that _they_ were the ones that were ‘scum’ and ‘weak’ and ‘the filthiest whore in all the Lonely Mountain!’ 

Of course, Balri knew how to push his buttons. He told Thrain that if he tried to fight anymore, the first one to pay for it would be his dear little brother. From that moment on, Thrain went completely slack, only making Balri laugh and thrust harder. They would have...they- Thrain lets a fresh set of tears fall down his cheeks, gasping for air as he screams for somebody, anybody…! But alas, no one comes. 

******

Quite some time passes, Thrain shivering from the cold hitting his naked body. It is then that he hears a very familiar set of footsteps. Oh Mahal, not _him_. He’s so young! Oh please, Mahal, take some pity! 

The small, sweet face that greets him is not the face Thrain is used to. Thror’s beautiful blue-green eyes are scared, so scared. He dropped the winter cape their mother had made for him on the ground, hurrying to untie his older brother. “Thrain? Thrain, what _happened_?!” 

As soon as the prince is free, he stands up with shaky knees, trying to cover himself the best he can. “Thror, go to the closet across the hall and get some bandages and cleaning cloths.” 

“Thrain, what’s wrong?” 

“ _Now,_ Thror!” The small boy hops, frightened of his brother being so cross with him. As soon as Thror leaves to get the supplies, Thrain looks over himself quickly to see if there are any cuts that need stitching. So far, there are none that would be an issue, other than a few he will stitch in the comfort of his room, when he’s home. Balri had decided to humiliate him further, cutting his groin and scratching something into his lower back with a fillet knife. He’s about to check himself for tears when Thror returns with everything he asked for. 

“Thrain, why were you-” 

“Turn around _right now_ , and don’t you dare turn back around until I say! Alright?” The seriousness in Thrain’s voice made Thror do as he was asked, covering his eyes as well. 

The way he did so made Thrain cringe. He had done the same thing just a few hours ago...Mahal, he still looks so innocent and small. His precious, precious baby brother. Even as Thrain whimpers and mewls in pain, Thror doesn’t turn. He does cringe, but he doesn’t dare turn. Finally, after some time, Thrain grabs a cloth sneakily and cleans himself for a few more minutes. 

Thror hears pant laces being done up. “Can I turn now, Thrain? Your nose isn’t doing so good! Oh no, Mama’s going to be so upset!” 

“Don’t bring Mama into this! Just put your finger and thumb on it like _this_ and-” A distinct pop is heard, causing Thrain to wince and Thror to gag. The heir gripped his brother, making him look him dead in the eye. “Thror, you can’t say a single word to anyone about what you’ve seen! Not even to Mama! Ever!” 

“But Thrain, you’re hurt! I need to take you to a healer!” 

“ _NO_! I said no one will know, and that’s that! I broke my nose from being hit by a horse’s hoof, and everything else is the aftermath. Do you understand me? They could send me away, Thror! I don’t want to lose you!” Thrain runs his hands through Thror’s hair, cupping his face in his hands. He hates even touching Thror with these hands. These hands covered in disgusting slime, no matter how hard he scrubs. “I will die if I can’t be with all of you. You’re the only happy things I have left. Please Thror…” 

The smaller dwarf prince shakes his head violently, as if to shows how much he promises to keep his brother’s secret. He doesn’t understand what being covered in white stuff, bruises and blood has to do with banishment, but he doesn’t ever want to find out. “Alright, Thrain, I promise.” 

“I love you, Thror. Never, ever forget that. And I owe you my very life tonight. It’s not worth much, but it is yours when you need it.” 

They devise a plan. Thrain covers himself in Thror’s winter cloak, while Thror sneaks him into the palace and back to his room. Thror will then tell their parents that Thrain was not feeling well due to his horse-caused injuries, and he will see no one until tomorrow morning. 

Thror had never lied to his parents before, but his brother told him how much it meant to him. He knew that he had to do this for Thrain. Thrain was his big brother, after all. 

*** 

"All By Myself"

Part Three:

“Thror, is big brother going to wake up?” 

The pure innocence of Willow’s voice makes Thror cringe. He loves his sisters, but his thoughts are filled of that night he found Thrain. It had been about a year since that night, and after an awkward conversation with his father following an embarrassing dream, he’d figured out what that white stuff was. It was then, after a long day of crying on Thrain’s part, Thror had finally understood exactly what his brother went through. 

And now, only a week after Thrain telling him the whole story, he was sleeping deeply after nearly dying. 

Thror could still hear everything from yesterday, crystal clear. The concerned shouts from Mama, the door being broken down by Papa, Mama and Papa’s screams and their tears… It was all so etched into his head, it would surely never leave. 

“Willow, Thrain will be up before you know it! The healer just said that he lost a lot of blood, so his body’s drained. We just need to let him rest, okay?” Thror taps his index finger on the tip of her nose, making Willow giggle quietly. Fuck, he wishes he could laugh right now. 

Amara briskly enters the room, bringing in a whole kit of things for Thrain. Everything from his journals to his favorite juice. All the children watch as their eldest sister runs around the room, cleaning this and that. Her face may be stone right now, but the look in her eyes says she’s panicking. 

“What a mess it is in here! I can never understand how our guest room gets so cluttered!” The eldest princess no sooner places the glass on the side table, when it’s grabbed by a pale, shaky hand, and brought to even paler lips. 

“ _Thrain!_ ” 

“H-hello, everyone…” Thrain smiles slightly for the young twins, letting them both crawl over him to give him a kiss on his cheek. “How are Mama and Father?” 

Thror doesn't have the heart to tell Thrain that they've been arguing since the Healer put him in the guest room, both blaming themselves for what happened. He also didn't want to tell him that the healer found his lower back scar and had figured out what it said. The healer didn't say what it was aloud, but his face drained of colour as he processed what the scar could mean and how it got there. 

“They’re doing...fine. They’re a little shocked and honestly worn, but once they see you’re awake, they’ll feel much better.” 

The heir steals his eye away from his younger brother, staring out the window that overlooked some of the vast mountain. The young ones put out their arms in protest, trying to get Thrain’s attention, but he just stares. His eye hard as it looks out on his future kingdom. “You mean Mama’ll feel better.” 

All the younger siblings look towards a stunned Amara, as she places a hand on Thrain’s shoulder. “Thrain, Papa was deathly scared that-” Thrain looks at her, making her double back on her words. “I didn’t mean that word to mean- Papa was scared he was going to lose you! I haven’t seen Papa weep like that since your first orc raid! All of us saw him, Thrain. If you don’t believe us, then I really don’t know what to think of you anymore!” 

That was obviously _not_ what the heir wanted to hear. He turns quickly to look at her again. “If you knew half of the fucking bullshit I’ve gone through, you would fall off your spot on Father’s knee.” Thrain practically spat when he spoke those two words, using his wobbly hands to crawl under the thick blankets before curling up into a ball. 

Amara sighs heavily, pulling the blanket down and off his face. “Well then why don’t you _tell us_? Maybe talking is a better way of solving your problems than taking permanent action. Did you even once think about what it would do to us? If you ask me, that is the most shameful way to leave this world and go to the next!” 

Thrain looks up, anger clear on his face. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, finally asking for everyone to leave him alone so he can sleep. Thror sighs, looking at his older sister with a harsh expression. “I tried!” is all she mouths, leaving the room quietly with the younger princesses in tow. 

The young prince stands stone-still for a few long moments, watching Thrain’s face go from anger to anguish in seconds. No sooner do the twins shut the door does Thrain finally cry. The younger prince sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not wanting to crowd his older brother. In moments of emotional distress, his big brother always reminds him of an abused doe. His body would _vibrate_ if anyone got close to him too quickly. His dear, sweet, doe of a brother. 

“Thrain, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you thought ending your life was the only way out. Or that no one seems to understand what you’re going through.” The heir grabs tightly on his brother’s hand, pulling him lay down alongside him. “I know that I don’t fully understand, but I could if you would _let me_. If you want, when you’re back on your feet, you can spend the night in my room? We could talk about it then. Sound good?” 

The younger prince had never been so happy to hear his brother’s stupid giggle in all his life. If Thrain had actually joined Mahal, Thror would have missed that laugh so much. If he were to be completely honest, he probably wouldn’t laugh again, himself. “I would like that, Thror. If you don’t mind being close to me…I know I’m not the most desirable bedmate now. I guess I never really was.” 

“Thrain, don’t say that!” Thror takes his brother’s jaw gently in his hand, making Thrain look at him. He brings his brother’s forehead to rest on his, speaking in a quiet whisper. “You’ve had some things happen to you that are dragging you to the ground. I get it, but fight it, big brother.” Thror quickly hugs his brother, kissing him on the forehead. “Fight the darkness, for us. Please.” 

One quick sob, and both of them are toast. A fresh set of tears fall from both boys, embracing tightly as they silently thank every entity that let Thrain live. Thrain knew as he cut deeply into his arm that he would probably never see his siblings in the afterlife, having some special dark place reserved for him after what he’d done. 

“I’m so sorry, Thror-”

“Shh, it’s fine now. If you don’t mind, I’m really rather tired. Could we sleep for a while, brother?” 

Thrain grins wide, placing a small kiss on the top of Thror’s head. He will never fully forgive himself for doing this to his family, but he at least knew that one of them didn’t hate him for what he’d done. One of them cared enough to help, was old enough to understand, knew why he did it and didn’t abhor him for it. Thank Mahal and Yavanna, that was a start. “Of course, Thror, would you like a lullaby?” 

“M’not a baby anymore. You don’t have to-” 

“I want to. Please, lay your head on my chest. Listen to me, okay?” 

Thror nods quickly, hiding his head and more tears in Thrain’s chest. The beautiful warble of Thrain’s voice makes Thror smile automatically. That’s another thing he would have missed, he would have missed Thrain’s sweet voice… 

“ _For you I’d adventure to a faraway land, on sand dunes of blue…_ ” 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that you all enjoyed my chapter, and that you come back for more! The next chapter dabbles into Thrain and his friend Tavor, who as you may remember, were at one point lovers. Thanks for sticking with us, everyone! And please, check out my art on my tumblr! 
> 
> http://slashluvr.tumblr.com/search/my+drawings
> 
> PS: The titles for each part are names of the songs I was listening to when I wrote this chapter. 
> 
> Part One: "Despite What You've Been Told" - Two Gallants
> 
> Part Two: "Bleeding Out" - Imagine Dragons
> 
> Part Three: "All By Myself" - Celine Dion


	15. When I'm Wiser and I'm Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last stop in the past before we proceed with the plot. Tavor, as it turns out, is much more than just Thrain's listening ear. His history with Thrain is worth examining, as you'll see both now and later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the large delay between updates. College hit me much harder than I expected it to, and this chapter just kept getting longer and longer. Hopefully we can be a little more frequent in the future. For now, enjoy this chapter and look forward to the Desolation of Smaug with us :)! 
> 
> Edit: Trigger warnings (SO sorry I forgot to put these in last night, I hope no one was upset by anything here): Trigger warnings for fairly non-graphic descriptions of rape, molestation, self-harm, self-loathing and self-blaming following said rape, and consensual underage sex (that last one is just two unsupervised teenagers doing what unsupervised teenagers do, but just to be on the safe side). 
> 
> Translation Notes (because fictional languages are fun to play with):  
> Gondel- Khuzdul, "the vow of all vows"  
> Azyungal- Khuzdul, "the love of all loves"  
> Smial- Hobbitish, "hobbit hole"

Not everyone gets to have the Crown Prince walk up to them and make small talk, but Tavor supposes he’s lucky that way. 

The Durin’s Day balls of Erebor are something to see, indeed. The kingdom effectively shuts down for a day, while every room of adequate space is filled with food, ale, and dwarves. The best ones are, of course, in the grand ballrooms of the palace. Excellent music and delicious food and drink flow freely through the immense halls. The royal family wander from room to room, wrapped up in singing, drinking, and dancing, usually with the Company members. Every dwarf keeps to their own circle of kin, and the Line of Durin behave just the same way No matter how many eyes might be fixed upon them.

Tavor is actually quite engrossed in watching the King’s nephews challenge the Captain of the Guard to an arm-wrestling match. It’s barely begun, already ending badly, when a spindly hand touches his shoulder. Tavor twitches visibly when he turns around and realizes to whom the hand belongs. 

“Hallo!” Thrain says with a wide, closed-lip smile. His voice only cracks the slightest bit, showing in combination with his overly-long limbs and full beard, that his body has already given childhood the heave-ho. There isn’t such a large difference between them size-wise, but the glint in Thrain’s eyes makes Tavor feel slight and small. “What is your name?”

When someone important asks questions, you answer. Don’t ask questions back. That’s what Tavor’s mother had always told him, anyways. So instead of asking why the prince is so interested in him, he simply answers in rote. Tavor, son of Tovor. Clan Broadbeam. Jeweller’s apprentice, like my father. Two older brothers. All three of us were born here, our parents came on the first caravan back from the Blue Mountains. And on and on and on. 

Thrain, as if to make up for the fact he has no principal information to share, is quite friendly and funny. The lilt of his voice and the genuine smile on his face make trivial facts, such as Tavor and Princess Amarantha being the exact same age but for a few hours’ separation, seem terribly entertaining. With all their talking, they both drain their mugs and head to the nearest table to refill. They’re nearly broadsided on the way by a well-liquored Master Nori, followed shortly by his equally lit husband, barreling after who-knows-what. 

“Goodness’ sakes!” Thrain gasps. Tavor has regained enough dignity not to chuckle at his refusal to so much as curse in surprise. They both watch the drunken pair disappear into the crowd, and hear a great deal of yelling go up as a result. 

Thrain casts a nervous glance in Tavor’s direction when the shouting gets louder. “What’s say you and me step out for a moment, hm?” 

Tavor is inclined to agree, having lost sight of his family hours ago. In their rather tipsy state, the boys quickly grow tired of standing out in the corridor and waiting for the brawl to end. At Thrain’s suggestion, they go on a long ramble through the more public section of the palace. When they get tired, Thrain leads them to a door. 

“It’s technically a training room for the winter,” Thrain says as he lights the lantern and waves Tavor in. The yellow light casts harsh shadows on the odd stacks of boxes and parts of armour scattered around. “But no one’s used it for anything but a closet in years. Come, let’s sit down for a while.” 

Tavor happily rests his heavy limbs against the wall and floor. For a long time, the two just sit and talk, taking turns swigging a bottle of sweet wine Thrain snagged before they left. Tavor asks what is involved in being a scholar of Mahal, and Thrain goes on a pause-less, passionate spiel that sends the younger man’s mind spinning, unable to understand half of what the prince says. Thrain inquires Tavor’s brothers, then splits his sides laughing at the tale of the eldest’s most recent and disastrous attempt at courting. 

So it goes, back and forth. The young men trade stories and anecdotes until they’ve laughed, talked, and gesticulated themselves into a sweat. They pause to gulp more of the wine, which sedates both of them. At length, with rather glazed blue eyes, Thrain says, “Mahal, I can’t wait for this winter to end.” 

“But it’s only just begun,” comes Tavor’s quiet reply.

“I know, but,” Thrain turns to grin at him, fidgeting slightly in place. “My first Orc raid is supposed to take place after the spring thaw! And with Durin’s Day now over and done with, it’s all I really have to look forward to, aside from a few birthdays.” 

“Oh, that is something worth being excited about!” Tavor frowns at himself, balling his thin hands in his lap. “You’re lucky, my father says he might make me wait until I’m thirty-five for mine.” 

“That’s nothing to scowl over,” Thrain’s gentle, sword-calloused hand rests on Tavor’s arm. Tavor can feel the warmth and weight even through his woolen sleeves. “As heir to the throne, I have to be ready and able much earlier than other boys my age. For instance, I learned to read and write by age eight!” 

“Really?” Tavor arches his eyebrow at the prince. “I didn’t learn ‘till I was twelve.” 

“Mhmm!” Thrain’s smile turns toothy and he bends forward to shake off his heavy fur coat. Tavor can’t help but be a little distracted; Thrain is scrawny, but much more solid than Tavor, and very broad in the shoulders. “And I’ve been weapons-training nearly every day since I was seven, riding since I was big enough to fit on a pony, and I’ve been at every session of court, certainly. What about you?” Thrain’s arm flops loosely over Tavor’s shoulders. “I really don’t have any idea of how commoners go about getting their education.” 

Tavor ceases his observation of the way Thrain’s black curls frame his face to draw his brows together and his lips into a thin line. “Well, I suppose the rest of us end up being bit behind because we have to spend our days working in order to feed ourselves.” 

After a second’s delay, Thrain retreats with contrition staining his face pink. He sweeps a nervous hand through his messy hair and speaks in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like such a-a pillock,- yes, that’s it -I really didn’t. It’s just that- I’d really like to be friends, but I don’t know how.”

Tavor does wonder in the back of his mind where Thrain heard such a distinctly Ered Luin insult, and if he’s trying to patronize him further, but pushes it aside. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know how?’”

Thrain picks at his cuticles. “Everyone in my life has either always been there, or only been formally introduced to me. I don’t have a lot of opportunities to meet people on my own terms.” 

“I understand,” Tavor nods slightly. He’d been somewhat severe in implying the royals didn’t work. They never _stopped_ working, they just didn’t do much manual labour. He sheds his own, much thinner coat, the room suddenly feels too warm. “Then why not pick someone more on your level? You’d have more in common.” 

“It’s not about that!” Thrain’s voice pitches up, his large eyes scrunching with frustration. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, I really like you! But I suppose I’ve made a mess of things, now.” 

“Not really.” Tavor dares to lightly touch Thrain’s bunched shoulder, smiling when the prince meets his eyes. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you as well, but I like you better when you’re not trying to impress me.” 

Thrain’s winning smile returns, faintly. “Fair enough.” 

After that, they decide to have another drink from the bottle between, and another, until getting up from their comfortable positions seems like too much work. 

“I have to ask,” Tavor says, licking at the sugary taste on his lips. “If you’re formally introduced to basically everyone, does that mean you have to be formally introduced to, ah, potential suitors?” 

Thrain shifts, joints popping against the stone wall. The lantern is running low and his expression is somewhat hidden by shadow. “It’s somewhat preferred, but hardly necessary. Look at how my father found my mother.” 

“Ahah, that’s true.” Tavor laughs perhaps a bit too long at that. He purposefully looks at Thrain when he speaks again. “So you have had suitors, then?” 

“Um,” Thrain’s front teeth seize on his bottom lip. “No.” 

“Oh.” Tavor’s cheeks gain two high spots of pink. “Well, don’t feel bad or anything. I’ve never courted anyone either. I mean, I kissed a few of my lesson-mates in Master Haror’s coat closet when I was wee, but everyone did that.” 

“I never did.” 

Tavor looks sideways at the prince’s expression. Thrain shifts, moving into the light, and every trace of his previous bravado is gone from his face. “Never...went for lessons?” 

“Never kissed anyone.” A thick swallow. “Not ever.” A glance away. “I suppose I’m a bit behind…”

It might have something to do with the emptied wine bottle at their feet. Or the fact Thrain’s deep blue sliver is hanging open to reveal an exceptionally captivating sliver of tan, muscular, hairy chest. Or both. Regardless, Tavor is inspired to open his mouth. “Would you like to?” 

“What?” Thrain’s head snaps around, corners of his mouth turning downwards and eyes widening. “No, no, I won’t have you taking pity on me!” 

“Not pity! Just a kiss.” The young men blink at each other. Tavor shrugs. “You have to start somewhere, right?” 

“Right,” Thrain bites his lip again, looking down. “You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Not at all.” Tavor’s skin buzzes low and warm as he waits for Thrain’s response. 

The prince seems to consider things, very briefly, before lifting his head and looking nearly fearful. Tavor turns himself properly sideways and gently takes his hand. Thrain shuts his eyes tight and purses his lips. Tavor smiles before he leans in, closing his own eyes just before his mouth reaches Thrain’s. 

All that is heard in either boy’s head is his own pounding heartbeat. The kiss is intensely brief. A dry brushing of lips before they both dart back, eyes snapping open. Tavor wonders if he’s the only one outside of Thrain’s family to have ever seen him blush to such a degree. 

“That was...nice.” Thrain mumbles, discreetly licking his lips as if trying to find Tavor’s taste amidst the spatters of wine. Wide blue eyes look up into calm brown. “Would you be opposed to doing that again?” 

“Hardly.” Tavor leans in much more quickly this time, a heat low in his belly and another over his skin urging him on. Thrain screws his eyes shut and tilts his head just in time to catch Tavor’s mouth against his own. Teeth clack together, noses bump, and it’s all a bit of a slobbery mess, but it’s wonderful. Tavor feels warm and alive and deliriously happy. He no longer compares his patched woolens to Thrain’s fine silks, he’s far too caught up in trying to draw more muffled, pleased noises from the prince. 

At what point and exactly how, neither Thrain nor Tavor is entirely sure, but they end up on the floor. Possibly because of the alcohol and the suggestive privacy of the closed, dark room, but most likely because they’re too young and excited to stop what they’ve started. As clasps and ties start coming loose, Tavor’s mind is shouting over itself. First, demanding he notice every last handsome feature of Thrain’s, from his sweet, reddened face to the wall of his chest to his rounded hips. Second, a constant, clanging reminder that it is, in fact, the next heir to Durin’s throne who has his tongue in Tavor’s mouth. 

Behind that insistent reminder is a facsimile of his mother’s voice, informing him of his place in this world and what that does and doesn’t entail. But then hands wander, and everything turns fast and molten hot. After a few moments of the most intense bliss Tavor has felt so far, the boys come back to themselves. Half-undressed, half-sitting up, and smiling wide as they pant wetly against each other’s lips. Their gasps turn into high and embarrassing giggles they don’t bother suppressing. 

After catching their breath, the boys grow quiet. Foreheads touching and hands on each other’s thighs, kissing softly with closed eyes, and appreciating the bristly catch of their whiskers and the heady scent filling the air. Suddenly, the pair sober up and realize how late it must be. Thrain retrieves a handkerchief from one pocket and, with a few awkward moments, they make themselves presentable once more. 

“So, could we, possibly, do this again sometime?” Thrain reaches an affectionate hand towards Tavor’s arm then retracts it, retreating in on himself with an air of sheepishness that doesn’t fit his title or his previous poise. 

“I’d love to! I mean, if that’s what you want.” Tavor’s slim fingers catch the edge of Thrain’s wrinkled, silver-lined sleeve. He lets them drop, looking at his feet. There’s plenty of stories about royals loving a peasant for a night, then leaving them before sunrise. Tavor doesn’t want to be one of them. 

“Of course! That is, yes, I would like that very much.” Thrain clasps Tavor’s hands in his, making both of them turn a little pink. The prince bites his bottom lip again, and Tavor’s really getting to like that little habit. “Why don’t we meet tomorrow? Everyone will be nursing sore heads, so there’ll be nobody making demands on me. We could meet for supper?” 

“At my father’s shop, when I’m done for the day?” Tavor grins like a fool at Thrain’s enthusiastic nod. “Alright! It’s set, then!” 

Thrain’s face lights up as he dives in for another kiss, much more chaste this time. The lantern is put out, and the boys exit, gripping each other’s hands far too tightly, but only from excitement. The dark corners and glowing patches of the mountain seem all at once much clearer to Tavor, as if he’s finally wiped the sleep from his eyes. They’re both tense, prepared for someone to come around a corner and or for the other to say something, but they make their way through the mountain in preserved silence. 

Tavor gets one more kiss from the prince. A sweet, eager press of lips about a stone’s throw from his home. He can still feel it when he walks into the sitting room and finds his parents and brothers sitting around the fire, wide awake. His father has a letter crushed in his wrinkled hand. No one’s smiling. 

At first light the next morning, Tavor’s swathed in woolens, handed a small pack of belongings, and lifted onto the last caravan bound for the Iron Hills. He feels like an oaf for worrying more about Prince Thrain than his dead aunt, or his mourning uncle that he’ll be living with for who knows how long. He wasn’t able to explain the situation to his family last night. Perhaps he can write Thrain a letter once he’s settled, but that’s still months of the poor fellow being left in the dark. 

The caravan begins to move and Tavor curls in on himself, breathing sharp, icy air and thinking unhappy thoughts. Someday he’ll come back and properly apologize. What can really change in a few years, anyways? 

* * *

Tavor returns with the second spring caravan nearly five years later. He’s grown a great deal taller, broader all over- so quickly that little white stretchmarks now worm over his tan skin, -and significantly hairier in every area. He’s also much more skilled, experienced, and all those things, but not necessarily happier. 

First of all, he’d not left his uncle under the best circumstances. The vibrant, talented man had fallen prey to slowness of the mind. After four-and-a-half years of perpetually referring to Tavor as Tali, his own cousin, his children had stepped in and ushered their widowed father into a back bedroom. While his uncle’s increasing mental decay had been depressing to watch, Tavor had enjoyed his time in the Iron Hills. His uncle had been very kind and indulgent with him, always praising his work and never minding when Tavor needed yet another new pair of boots. He’d learned a lot from him, and in spite of everything, he’d been very content to remain there until he was sent home. 

But second, and more concerning, there was the fact that all of Tavor’s letters to Thrain had gone unanswered. He’d finally concluded the prince was either left in the dark courtesy of shoddy messengers, so angry with Tavor that he’d managed to maintain the silent treatment for four years straight, or somehow dead. Excellent. 

Tavor sighs for the tenth time that day, sending tiny metal shavings scuttling over his worktable. It’s just so unfair that his ill-fated first love had to coincide with all that going to live with his uncle entailed. A chance like that would never come again, and he probably wouldn’t take it if it did. At least things will be peaceful now, he deserves that much.

The bell attached to the shop door chimes just as his father sits down to work on a complicated commission piece. “Ach, could you go take care of that?”

“Certainly, Father.” Tavor sets his tools down and scrubs his hands over his heavy apron. He pauses at the curtain separating the workroom from the shop front when his father starts another coughing fit, but the old dwarf insistently waves him on. 

The customer is a noble of some stripe, judging by his clothes, but his identity is hidden by his hood that droops over his face as he bends to examine a set of rings. “Hello, sir, how can I be of help to you today?” 

The man doesn’t say anything for a moment. Tavor brushes imaginary dust off the counter, wondering if the man is deaf, or just too conceited to talk to a shopkeeper. Finally, an oddly familiar voice finally says “Tavor?” 

“Ah, yes?” Tavor’s head pops back up and his fingers fidget against the wood. “Do I know you, sir?” 

“Tavor, it’s _me._ ” The reedy, hidden voice under the hood doesn’t leave him guessing for another second, a gloved hand rushes up to yank the hood back. 

Tavor can’t help but gasp. The face revealed is heavily scarred, short one eye, and altogether altered, but still recognizable. “ _Thrain?_ ” 

Thrain’s shoulders bunch up in a familiar way. “Yes, I suppose I look quite different now, don’t I? Forgive me, I’ll just be on my way-” 

“Wait!” Tavor darts out from behind the counter and catches hold of Thrain’s elbow. He feels his stomach clench at the frightened look Thrain directs at him. Tavor keeps his voice low, lest his father’s attention be drawn. “What in the Maker’s name happened to you?” 

Thrain squints critically at him. “You don’t know?” 

Tavor shakes his head hard, the tie holding back his hair nearly coming loose. “No, I’ve only been home for a few days.” 

“Ah, that explains it.” Thrain nods, nibbling at the corner of his lip. “Let’s just say that first Orc raid of mine wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be.” 

“Oh.” The sound is punched from Tavor’s lungs, he fends off a number of disturbing images thrown up in his mind. He’d taken his first raid in the Iron Hills, shaking all over and coming away with a few gashes, but nothing like _this._ “Are you, are you alright?” 

Thrain shrugs after a few long seconds. “I’m standing here, aren’t I?” 

“Yes, you are.” Tavor drops his hand and tries to share a smile with Thrain, unsuccessfully. “Listen, I didn’t mean to just, just abandon you like that. I went home and we’d gotten a letter-” 

“I know.” A tiny smile. “Your eldest brother was kind enough to walk by and share the news with me, after I told him I was planning to buy some jewellery from you. I’m sorry about your aunt.” 

“S’fine, perfectly fine.” Tavor shakes his head again. It’s not fine at all, but Thrain clearly has enough stress in his own life, he doesn’t need any more. “We could make up for it, if you like?” 

“Make up for what?” There’s that fearful look in his remaining eye, again. What happened to this man? 

“Another meeting outside the shop?” Tavor holds his hands facing up and open, focusing all the warmth into his smile. “No sudden relative deaths this time, I promise.” 

Thrain chuckles darkly at that, looking at his feet. “That’s- that’s possible. But what will we do after we meet?” 

“Talk,” Tavor tries hard not to let condescension creep into his voice. “Catch up, have supper, does that sound alright?” 

“Yes.” Thrain takes Tavor’s hands in his with great tentativeness. “Yes, I would like that. Suppertime. Alright, I’ll see you then, I suppose?” 

“Hold on.” Thrain frowns, but Tavor keeps smiling. “Didn’t you come in here to buy something?” 

“Ah, right!” Thrain whirls around, cropped hair whipping around him, and he snatches a piece off the display he was just examining. A slender, gold ring meant for a small finger, with two purple stones framing the Dagaz rune carved shallowly into the surface. “Would you mind wrapping this up for me?” 

“For the younger Princess Dis, I assume?” Tavor demures as he takes Thrain’s payment and wraps the small ring in a bit of smooth cloth. 

“Yes, she turns twenty tomorrow!” Thrain beams, genuinely beams, with pride and affection. Tavor’s heart flutters, just slightly. The prince sighs, and speaks as if his mind is elsewhere from his body. “She’s grown up so much these past few years…” 

“You ought to tell me all about her, everyone, and everything else, tonight.” Tavor takes Thrain’s hand lightly in his and palms the ring into it, praying with all his might that his father doesn’t choose this moment to come out. “I look forward to seeing you again tonight, Thrain.” 

Thrain colours almost red, and trips over his words, “I-yes, the same for me See you then, right!” And he’s run off. Tavor blinks a few times and retreats back to his worktable, hoping he hasn’t bungled such a grand second chance. 

* * * 

What feels like days later, it appears he hasn’t. Thrain stands just down the way from the shop, waiting still and patient. He greets Tavor with a smile that lights up his eye, if only slightly. But there is a rather heavy silence as they make their way to the nearest pub.

“So, you must be wondering about all of this.” Thrain gestures to himself, after they’ve acquired a sheltered table near the back and swallowed a few mouthfuls of ale. Tavor nods, and receives what he senses is a whitewashed explanation of what went wrong that night, and how long it took Thrain to recover. Even so, Tavor feels sick. The whole thing is just so horribly unfair and unfortunate. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tavor mumbles, knowing what little good those words do. “I honestly hadn’t the slightest idea. I tried sending you letters, the whole time I was there, but-” 

“You wrote to me?” Thrain sits up straighter, face looking a bit blank. 

“Of course. I felt like a right brute just leaving you hanging like that. I wanted to at least speak with you before I left, but there was nothing to be done.” 

“I’m sorry I never replied.” Thrain’s lips finally curve from an apathetic line to a lopsided, apologetic smile. “I would have, if I had ever got them. We’ve had a long string of shoddy messengers. Or maybe my mother-” He shakes his head, smile fading. “I can’t believe you sent so many letters to someone you only knew for one day.” 

“I...very much enjoyed that one day.” Tavor looks down, fists curling against the table, blunt fingernails catching on rough wood. He feels spindly fingers come to rest on his forearm, and his stomach flips in fear and hope. 

“So did I.” Thrain has mirth in his eye as he laughs, making him appear much more welcoming. Younger, even. “Enough of this griping! Do tell me of the Iron Hills, I’ve never been. What’s it like there?” 

In a reverse of when they last met, Tavor dominates the first half of the conversation. Spinning tales of his trip and his uncle. His eldest brother’s leaving for the Iron Hills himself, on the heels of Tavor’s return, to become a merchant. His middle brother’s experiences on the King’s Guard. And of course, the finer points of filigree. Thrain is a receptive listener, and neither laughs nor raises an eyebrow at Tavor’s frequent moments of babbling ineptitude. 

It takes some coaxing to get Thrain to open up and talk about his own life, so unlike the last time. Tavor wonders if it’s to do with the Orc raid. That would account for Thrain’s shyness and drawn-in posture. The younger man wishes he knew how to set the prince at ease. He so misses the spark their previous conversation had. 

Ale loosens the prince’s tongue over time. He speaks of his siblings with a fierce love that can nearly be felt, like the fur of his coat. A burning energy ignites in his voice and commands attention. Tavor is even fascinated by Thrain’s rambles about the plots and information contained in his favourite books, despite only owning three himself, one of which is propping up a table leg. 

Tavor is also very interested in the way Thrain’s face softens when he mentions his mother’s stories about the Shire. The musical rhythm of his voice that only becomes more so as he empties his mug. The way he combs his fingers through his dark, shortened curls, careful to avoid the straps of his eyepatch, and what appear to be a few burns barely hidden on his scalp. How his body moves when he shifts in his seat. And perhaps most of all, the familiar way he nervously bites his lip, turning it red before his pink tongue flicks out to soothe it. 

It’s settled. Tavor is a complete and utter goner. For a prince, no less. This can’t end well, he knows that. But he keeps watching Thrain grin and gesture while he talks of the antics of his twin sisters anyways. The ale drowns his worries, for now. 

The prince pauses when he finishes chuckling over the last story, and looks up at Tavor, a strange smile on his lips. Tavor thinks he must have foam in his beard, and immediately lifts his hand to wipe it away. Thrain laughs softly, shutting his eye and shaking his head.

“You know, I’m not the only one who’s changed over the past few years.” Thrain drags his index finger around the lip of his mug. “I’m embarrassed to say it, but it took a few moments for me to recognize you this afternoon. I didn’t expect to see you there, after all.” 

“Yes, I suppose I’ve grown quite a bit.” Tavor toys with the metal clasp on the end of his family braid. Manhood had hit him like a runaway cart. His poor uncle had barely kept him in clothes and boots. Even his voice had dropped like a stone. He’s glad that his ugly stage finally came to an end before he’d returned to Erebor. “You came into the shop on just the right day.” 

“I’ll say. You’ll be Mister Dwalin’s size at the rate you’re going.” Thrain drawls as he sips his ale. “I don’t think I’ll get any taller. I am hoping to get a little broader, though. Who’s ever heard of a scrawny king?” 

“I think you’re perfectly fine just the way you are!” Tavor interjects. “I’m sure you’ll make an excellent king!” 

Thrain’s eye widens, almost owl-like, and Tavor grins painfully to hide his embarrassment. He’s not usually this blunt. No more ale refills tonight. 

“Well, thank you.” Thrain looks down, bringing his mug up for another sip. “But I’d still like to be, you know, handsomer than I am right now.” 

“I think you’re plenty handsome!” Tavor bites his tongue and subtly pushes his half-full mug away. What is he expecting? What happened on Durin’s Day was just...youthful exuberance. Yes, that’s all. He’s no match for a future king. He should have known better, he’s practically an adult, now. 

Thrain meets his gaze with a darkened pupil, a certain blush over his cheeks and neck. “Not nearly as handsome as _you._ ” 

Tavor’s mouth goes bone-dry, and he’s about to attempt a response when the table beside them explodes into a raucous rendition of what sounds like two drinking songs being sung over each other. It’s hard to tell through the slurring and table-pounding. 

Thrain’s expression hardens with irritation when Tavor turns back round. He waves his hand vaguely towards the door. “Perhaps we should take our leave.” 

Thrain insists on walking Tavor home, though he stumbles over the more uneven parts of the path. Tavor keeps hold of his arm and tries not to go too red in the face. If it’s noticed, he’ll blame it on the drink. 

The prince cocks his eyebrow when Tavor produces a key and unlocks the shop door. “Does your family live behind it?” 

“No, I live above it.” 

Thrain straightens, seeming to sober up. “By yourself?” 

“Yes, it’s a bit of old tradition. Anyone who takes up the family trade lives over the shop and gains their independence a little early.” Tavor speaks in half-truths, certain that a future king with six siblings cannot grasp the concept of “one too many mouths to feed.” 

“Oh. Well, in that case,” Thrain swallows hard before he speaks again. “May I walk you to your proper door?” 

“Ah,” Oh dear. “It’s, um, it’s not much but,” Refuse. Make an excuse. Remember your place. “Sure, you can come up.” Fool. 

Tavor shuts the door behind them and leads Thrain up the tucked-away stairs. His hand shakes, clacking the key against the lock. They step into the stumpy entrance hall that opens onto the main room, containing both the kitchen and sitting area. “Well,” Tavor pivots on the stained rug, staring down at Thrain’s chin. “This is it.” 

“It’s nice,” Thrain says softly, sounding as if he actually means that. He shuffles half a step forward. “You must get lonely, though.” 

“Sometimes.” Tavor instinctively drops his head to Thrain’s level and catches a very familiar scent. “I get by.” 

“Mm,” Thrain meets Tavor’s eyes, his expression so soft, so genuine. He shifts his balance onto his toes and gets closer to Tavor’s face. “Is that so?” 

Ale still addling his mind, Tavor responds with the same fervour from four years ago. The inch of distance between their lips is quickly closed, and everything after that is a heated blur. Clothes are pulled open. Feet stumble towards the bedroom. Hearts pound and breaths can’t come fast enough. At last, there are sheets beneath them and enough space to pull shirts up and over heads. 

Tavor’s skin is bathed in a trembling warmth as the two of them attempt to kiss and undress other at the same time. Things are going well, at least as well as the handful of meaningless tumbles he’d had with a miner in the Iron Hills. Until Thrain suddenly turns reluctant at the attempted removal of his undershirt. Tavor slows down, hands sliding soothingly over his back, not lingering on the burns. When his fingers catch over a particularly prominent scar on Thrain’s lower back, the prince stiffens, eager movements ceasing completely. 

“Thrain?” Tavor pushes himself up on his hands and finds the older boy blank-faced and curling inwards. “What’s the matter? Am I going too fast?” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing! I just- Keep going, I’m fine, really!” 

“You’re not fine, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Tavor sits back on his heels, giving Thrain space. “If you don’t want to, we can just-” 

“Of course I want to!” The older boy sits up, pawing awkwardly at Tavor’s undone belt, voice tight and frantic. “We’ve done this before, after all. Don’t worry, let’s just keep going! Come on-” 

“Thrain, stop!” Tavor grabs Thrain’s wrist a little too tightly. “Just tell me what’s wrong! You’re as white as a sheet. Was it something…” 

Tavor trails off when he sees Thrain’s frightened stare affixed to his own shaking forearm. Tavor looks down as well, and gapes a little. The loose sleeve of Thrain’s undershirt has fallen back halfway to his elbow, revealing a long row of thin white scars. Dozens of them, marking up the soft skin of his inner arm, paling in comparison a thick, deep one running lengthwise from end to end. There was no mistaking them. The Orcs did not make these. 

“Please, don’t tell anyone!” Thrain’s voice is like a frightened child’s as he jerks out of Tavor’s grasp. He scrambles to grab his shirt and coat while hauling himself off the bed. 

“Wait, wait! Thrain, _wait!_ ” Tavor nearly smacks Thrain in the nose when he sticks his arm out, yanking back his own sleeve. Thrain stills when his eyes lock on Tavor’s forearm. There aren’t as many, they’re all horizontal and a great deal more faded, but they’re still there. 

“See?” Tavor smiles almost maniacally, desperate to calm the obviously terrified man. “You’re not alone.” 

Thrain’s jaw works for a few seconds before he actually forms two feeble words. “But, why?” 

“It’s a long story.” Tavor grimaces, dropping his arm. “I suspect the same goes for you.” 

Thrain’s shoulders bunch up and he looks down, nodding silently. 

“We can tell them tomorrow.” Thrain’s head snaps up, his watery blue eye full of fear. “If you want to. Or we can talk about other things. Would you like that?” 

Thrain doesn’t reply right away. “I think so.” 

“Alright.” Tavor starts redoing the ties of his undershirt. “I’ll walk you back to the palace. Or just part of the way, if you don’t want anyone asking questions.” 

“Actually,” Thrain’s hand darts out to seize a corner of Tavor’s sleeve. “Could I stay here? Just for the night? I always wake up exceptionally early, I’ll be gone long before first breakfast.” 

Tavor furrows his brow. “Won’t your family wonder where you are?” 

“I spend lots of nights away from home,” Thrain shrugs slightly. “Usually in the Altar, sometimes at Mister Dwalin’s or Bifur’s or whoever. No one will think twice.” 

“Well, as long as the palace guard won’t kick my door in at sunrise.” Tavor toes his boots and socks off, removes his belt, and pulls the sheets back. “Are you sure you want to stay?” 

Thrains nods fervently. “I trust you.” A pause while his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“Understandable.” Tavor crawls under the covers, giving Thrain a generous portion of the mattress. The prince refuses the unspoken offer, pressing his back to Tavor’s and curl up under the covers, not saying a word. 

They lay still in the darkness for some time. Tavor feels his eyelids drooping with the weight of a very long day. A small, determined voice rouses him. “...Thank you.” 

“Think nothing of it.” 

* * *

Thrain is indeed gone long before breakfast, and Tavor curses when he realizes he didn’t make the prince promise to return that evening. The day is marred by anxiety. He grits his teeth when he smiles at customers, and receives a lengthy lecture from his father after the third irritated retort to an innocuous question. Definitely not a good day. 

He puts up the closed sign on the shop window, sweeps up, and keeps working instead of making his supper. He ruins a simple test piece of poor-quality silver in between popping his head out the door and looking down the way. On the fifteenth check, he finally spots the short, skinny silhouette he’s been looking for and beckons him inside. 

Tavor is somewhat embarrassed to serve his future king sausage and potatoes in a cramped flat that’s in need of a mopping. But the glazed expression on Thrain’s face gives him the small comfort that he’s not all that concerned with Tavor’s housekeeping skills. 

They eat in painful silence, aside from a few soulless pleasantries Thrain addresses to the quality of Tavor’s cooking. Tavor thanks him, clears the dishes away, and sits back down with a heavy sigh. “Would you like me to start?” 

Thrain seems to argue with himself for a moment, shutting his eye as he replies. “Please do.” 

With a clench in his gut and a touch of cold sweat at his temples, Tavor tells the story. He’d been barely twenty-three at the time. Accompanying his father on a trip down to Dale to meet with some fellow craftsmen, all staying at one dwarf’s house. Just after supper, one of them had been demonstrating a new carving technique, slipped, and cut his hand quite badly. Tavor was asked to run to the healer’s, as it was just down the road. Wanting to be a good, obedient child, he’d hurried off that instant. 

The healer had been in the middle of treating a child with a sore throat, and took some time getting the gauze to Tavor. By then, the sun was set and it was quite dark outside. The healer asked if he wanted someone to walk back with him, but Tavor said no, because he didn’t want his father’s friends to think he was a baby. 

(*Triggers Start)* 

“I was a little clumsy at that age,” Tavor recalls with a half-smile. He’d dropped the roll of gauze and took some time to pick it up, dust it off, and re-roll it. In that time, two young Men had walked over, asking in slurred voices if he was lost. Tavor said he was not, but they insisted they’d lead him home, grabbing his shoulders as they spoke. 

But they didn’t take him home. They pushed him into an alley, pulled his clothes open, and muffled his cries. Later, Tavor would realize it hadn’t taken more than ten or fifteen minutes. But while they were humiliating him, it felt like hours. 

The Men finally walked off, laughing over what they thought of as a great joke. Tavor numbly redressed, picked up the gauze again, and ran down the street. His father was furious with worry when he arrived, and sent him straight to bed for his perceived misbehaviour. Tavor did not sleep. He laid awake, slowly coming to realize he’d never feel truly safe again. 

“I thought I might forget about it, once we got out of Dale. I’d go home and sleep it off and it’d be like it never happened.” On the seventh near-sleepless night, in the room he shared with his middle brother, Tavor’s skin was crawling. He felt as though his mind would snap if he didn’t stop thinking about those Men, what they did, the smell of their breath. He needed to do something, but he couldn’t think of what. 

Tavor ended up tiptoeing into the sitting room and nearly pacing a dent in the Warg-skin rug. Winding himself up, desperately trying to think of something that would just stop it, his eyes land on the sewing basket his mother had left out. The little red pincushion sitting on top. There, he found his answer. After making fifteen thin lines in the crease of his elbow and washing the pin, he went back to bed and nearly slept through breakfast. Nobody noticed. Nobody said anything. He had a secret all his own for the second time, but this time, it was his to control. And no one could take that from him. 

*(Triggers End)* 

“You must understand,” Tavor soothes when Thrain slumps back against his chair, mouth hanging open and hands twitching on the table. “My mother and father survived Smaug when their parents did not. Mother starved in the streets of Ered Luin, and Father had to scrabble to find work as a miner. My brothers and I have always been told we don’t have anything to complain about. So we don’t.” 

Tavor kept up his little habit for close to a year, filching a pin and hiding it deep in his drawer. Until one day of rest, when his eldest brother barged in on him in the bath and accidentally saw some fresh marks. Once Tavor was dressed, he was dragged down to the crypts under the pretence of paying respects to their grandparents. They found a sheltered corner and sat for a long time, his brother doing most of the talking. 

“The long and the short of it was that those two Men were the ones who deserved pain,” Tavor’s eyes light up in an odd, warm way. “And if I didn’t understand that, I’d surely end up down there, returned to the stone. He told me, with more conviction in his voice than I’d ever heard him use, that he’d do anything to stop that from happening. So I threw out my pin and stopped, even though some days I thought I’d go mad from wanting to do it again so badly. I found other things to do instead. Even now, I sometimes have moments like that.” 

Thrain lets the pause linger for several moments, before speaking with a firm, rough voice. “But you still don’t do it? Just because of what your brother said?” 

Tavor takes a moment to choose his words, and dares to reach across the table and take the prince’s white-knuckled hand. “Not just because of that. But sometimes, having someone who really understands can make all the difference.” 

Thrain’s body scarcely moves, but his thoughts are clearly churning like a river in a storm. His pupil is dilated, his shoulders have migrated up towards his ears, his jaw is clenched tight. He looks like he might bolt, or be sick, or both. 

“You can tell me if you want,” Tavor steadies his grip on Thrain’s long fingers. “It can’t do more harm than holding it in already has.” 

Thrain rips his hand away with a violence that frightens Tavor. “What’s to stop you from sharing what I tell you with the whole kingdom? I’m sure such details could be bought for a very handsome sum!” 

“I would vow to you that I will not tell a single soul anything you tell me.” Tavor squares his shoulders, looking the prince dead in the eye. 

Thrain regards him with a hard expression that twists his face nearly beyond recognition. “ _Gondel?_ ” 

Tavor rests both hands palm-down on the table, holding Thrain’s gaze. “Aye.” 

Thrain’s eyebrows shoot up, and he is himself again. “Such a commitment from someone so young...you are rather full of surprises.” 

“It is not difficult to promise something you intended to do anyway.” Tavor lets his posture slump. He takes Thrain’s hand again, much more gently this time. “Please. Tell me, Thrain. I only want to help you.” 

There is a long, long silence, and then a spray of words all at once. Thrain’s bitter tongue makes short, cold work of the events following his failed Orc raid. The constant shame, the potential love, the final violence. Tavor scarcely blinks, he has to pay absolute attention just to keep up. All the while, he feels as if his blood is freezing over. 

“-And that’s what brought me to this.” Thrain touches the deep, vertical scar, speaking with a near-visceral hatred. “If it weren’t for my siblings and my poor mother, I might have tried again. Erebor has no need of a king who disgraces himself in such a way. I’ve never known anyone as foolish as myself,-” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” The inside of Tavor’s mouth is like dry leaves when he speaks. 

Thrain looks up for the first time since he began. “Pardon?” 

“It wasn’t-None of it was your fault. He was a man, you were a child! He shouldn’t have even looked at you that way!” 

Thrain draws his arms in tightly. “Were you even listening? I went to him willingly! I sought out his affections every day I went down there!” 

“Don’t defend him, or his actions!” Tavor smacks his hands on the table, startling Thrain. His skin itches like mad, the way it hasn’t for months and months. “Thrain, he _raped_ -” 

“Don’t fucking say that!” Thrain kicks the chair back, slamming his own hands on the table and baring his teeth. “That’s something that evil, dishonourable men do to women who can’t defend themselves! Men don’t-That doesn’t happen to us!” 

“Men don’t generally get pulled into alleyways and fondled!” Tavor stands at his full height, crossing his arms. “But how do you explain what happened to me?” 

Thrain seems to choke on the hardness of his own words. His eye flicks around, looking anywhere but Tavor’s face. “I-That’s different! You were just a little boy! A child who was violated by the kind of scum who do that to children!” 

“And you were just the same.” Tavor’s words come out strained, but definite. “That man saw you were hurt and took advantage of it.” 

Thrain’s head drops so that his mess of hair hides his eye. His voice is young and thin when it does come out. “He said he loved me. I never had a reason not to believe him, until...” 

“He never loved you.” Tavor moves around the table as if sliding over cracking ice. “People don’t hurt the people they love, not intentionally, and men don’t lay with children. No one deserves _any_ of the things they did to you.” 

Thrain’s shoulders begin to quake. “I deserved them.” 

Tavor reaches over to clutch Thrain’s wrist. “Thrain, no-” 

“Don’t you dare try and convince me!” Thrain shoves Tavor away in a raw, stinging wave of anger. “That would never have happened to Mister Dwalin, or Fili, or Kili, or anyone but me! They never would have fallen for any of his flattery! They wouldn’t have kept going back, but I did! I didn’t think! I just kept going because he made me...happy.” 

Thrain whirls around when his voice breaks on the last word. He shakes all over, but covers his mouth so the sobs won’t come out. Tavor opens his mouth to speak, closes it again, and very carefully steps forward and rests his hands on Thrain’s shoulders. Not holding him, just letting him know he’s there. 

Thrain shakes in silence for several more minutes, then throws his hand up in a flippant flick of the wrist. “Why did I pay attention to him?” He jams his hand back in the crook of his elbow. “Why didn’t I just stay in my room?” 

“I’m so sorry, Thrain.” Tears threaten in Tavor’s voice, and he dares to slip his arms around Thrain’s shoulders. 

Just in time. The prince collapses, something has broken within him and he howls. In a crumpled ball, he sobs himself hoarse on the floor. Tavor holds him, trying in vain to soothe the poor boy as he lets it all out. They’ve only known each other for a few days, really. All this romantic tension between them is something they’ve both built up in their heads. But it matters not to Tavor. He comforts the poor, broken prince who’d taken to him nearly five years ago, using the words his eldest brother had once said to him, down in the crypts. 

Thrain eventually has his cry out, easing into slight, constant tremors and pained whimpers. It takes some encouraging, but Tavor does get an answer as to whether Thrain would like to be escorted home or put up for the night. 

“I’ll sleep out here,” Tavor says softly. “I have some spare blankets in the cupboard.” 

“No, please,” Thrain’s fingers bite into his shoulders. “I’ll only feel worse if you’re not there.” 

Thrain is sobbing anew in bed when Tavor returns from the privy. The younger man immediately comes to his side, stroking his shoulders and hair. “Oh, I’m pathetic! I’m no dwarf prince, I’m-I’m just a hobbit! I shouldn’t be in charge of anything more than a gro-grocery!” 

“Hush,” Tavor croons. “You’ll work yourself into a sickness if you don’t calm down.” 

“And you!” Thrain swipes at wet face, ignoring the soothing touches. “Look at the trouble I’ve put you through! Making you tell me your secrets, forcing you to put up with mine, making you swear that to me- Mahal, you should hate me!” 

“You haven’t forced me to do anything,” Tavor draws up the sheets and tries to coax Thrain to lie down. “And don’t speak as if it’s all over between us.” 

Thrain affixes Tavor with a desperate stare, face soaked and angry red. “Isn’t it?” 

The jeweller presses the lightest of kisses to the prince’s forehead. “Not by far.” 

* * * 

What is a craftsman who doesn’t enjoy a project? Perhaps that’s a somewhat heartless way of describing it, but that’s certainly what their relationship resembled. 

Thrain returns many more times after that second night. At first, only for short, apologetic visits, usually accompanied by baked goods that Tavor is in no position to refuse. It takes a large amount of convincing and a small portion of wine to convince him that Tavor still desires his company, warts and all. 

Not a week of banal conversations pass before they touch on Balri again. Briefly, and with many comforting touches afterwards. Comforting touches that spin into hungry kisses and nothing more. 

Tavor has to fight not to laugh when Thrain actually pouts. “I can try again!” 

“You don’t have to.” Tavor reaches out and brushes a few stray locks from the older boy’s face. “I’ll take whatever you want to give me, whenever you’re willing to give it.” 

Thrain’s eye sweeps over Tavor, his lips slightly parted. “That’s…an unusually generous thing to say.” 

“I’m an unusual fellow, in many ways.” Tavor leans back, carding his fingers through his beard as if thinking deeply. “For instance, I’m infatuated with a rather unusual man.” 

Thrain turns as red as a ruby. He fidgets and stammers. Tavor laughs, hoping it won’t sound mocking. “Why are you so surprised? Do you think I let just anyone share my bed?” 

“I didn’t,-I thought...” Thrain trails off when Tavor takes his face in his hands. The confidence of the heir who glided through the grand ballroom all but gone. “I am unsure of how to proceed.” 

“Then let’s talk about it,” Tavor leans in to peck Thrain’s nose. “We do little else, after all.” 

The long conversation is initially sweet and flirtatious, but ends in frustration and resignation. They decide to keep this thing between them a secret, at least for now. “He said he wouldn’t let anyone else have me as he did. So if he caught wind of us, he might come through on his threat to Thror…” Thrain gulps as he speaks, as if holding back his dinner. Tavor holds him again, trying to smooth out the rough spots with the palm of his hand. 

Tavor doesn’t mind the secrecy so much. He likes having his affair with this strange, fragile, handsome man as something just for himself. It’s much healthier than the pin. And if no one knows he’s courting the prince, then no one can bother him because of it. Especially his family. Oh, there would be no end to the lectures if they knew. 

“Tavor,” Thrain props his elbow on the patchwork sheets and rests his head on his hand. “What happened to your parents? Why do you speak of them the way you do?” 

“I think,” Tavor gnaws on his lip, setting the monthly tally for the shop till aside. “I think it’s like, they lost more than their family and their homes. I mean those are most important, but living in Ered Luin the way they did...It’s like Mother lost a lot of her calmness, and Father lost most of his passion. At least I think so, it’s not as if I knew them before.” 

“I understand,” Thrain nods, almost sagely. “I think something similar happened to Aunt Dis. Most of the time she’s really funny and high-spirited,- she loves teasing Father to no end, -but she can get shrill and snappy all of a sudden. Especially if she’s worried, and _especially_ if her sons are involved. She’s kind of like a little kid, in some ways.” 

“Yeah!” Tavor nods emphatically, taking up the tally again. “But it’s not as if we love them any less, though.” 

Thrain gives him a slim smile. “Of course not.” 

Every working day afterwards nearly always goes the same: Tavor’s father leaves for the night and Tavor tidies up the shop. He’ll just be setting down the broom when there’s a light knock at the door. There Thrain stands, basket of “leftovers” in hand (they don’t look like any leftovers Tavor has ever seen, but he quickly acquires a weakness for Shire food that Thrain is eager to sate). Hands and lips invariably wander. On good nights, Thrain is sent home with a parting kiss. On bad nights, he sleeps in the crook of Tavor’s arm. 

Eventually, Thrain begins staying regardless of what path their conversation takes. But that takes a lot of work on his part, and words on Tavor’s. 

During their first year, Tavor frets over what Thrain’s family must think, if they wonder who is stealing their son and brother. Until, on one of his and Thrain’s rare evening walks on a cool fall night, they run into the Queen. 

“So, this is who my son’s been spending all his time with!” Bella says upon sighting them out on the road leading to Erebor. “Mister Tavor, correct?” 

“Ah, yes! Your Majesty,” Tavor plants his feet and gives a deep bow that has Thrain twitching with laughter. “Tavor, son of Tovor, at your service. It is an honour to meet you.” 

“Bella Baggins, at yours.” Bella gives a little nod, silver-streaked curls bobbing in the wind. Tavor’s only glimpsed her at official functions, so it’s odd seeing her in Shire clothing. He keeps his eyes down, feeling immensely humbled in her presence. “Do say hello, Frodo. There’s no need to be shy.” 

A tiny, dark-haired hobbit emerges from Bella’s shadow and offers a lopsided smile. “Hallo!” 

Tavor smiles back, nods, and lets Thrain take over the small talk. He quickly and politely answers the few questions the Queen directs at him, and says his proper farewells when she insists they ought to be getting home. 

“See you in the morning, Mama.” Thrain unabashedly kisses the smiling woman’s foreheard, before bending to pat the youngling’s cheek. “Don’t forget to come to my and Thror’s weapons practice tomorrow, hm? I promise Mister Dwalin doesn’t bite!” 

Frodo bobs his head enthusiastically, despite a nervous crinkle in his eyes. “I won’t forget!” 

Thrain waves at the little one until both he and the Queen are out of sight. Tavor smiles helplessly at the paternal expression on Thrain’s face. “I assume that’s your cousin, unless there’s another baby hobbit running around?” 

“Indeed!” Thrain beams, nearly glowing with pride. “But he’s not a baby. Hobbits are smaller, but they age quicker than dwarves. He’s nearer to Amara’s age, really. Isn’t he just the sweetest thing? I would so like for him to leave Mama for more than an hour at a time, since he’ll likely return to the Shire when he’s grown. There’s nothing for him to do around here.” 

Tavor nods as they start down the road, away from the shadowed gates. “Yes, but I can’t fault him for being shy. If there was only one other dwarf around, I’d stick close to them too.” 

“I thought you might say that.” Thrain speaks with an enigmatic smile. They eventually reach the bottom of the foothill and sit down for a pipe. Thrain whispers between puffs of smoke that he’s ready to try again. 

Tavor chokes, hacking like a fool. “What-what’s changed since the last time?” 

“A year has passed,” Thrain takes Tavor’s hand loosely, in broad daylight, though there’s no one around but the guards up at the gates. “And you were right, all this talking has made all the difference.” 

* * * 

Tavor sprawls on his back, catching his breath as Thrain pops up from under the sheets. He smiles wide and settles himself halfway across Tavor’s sweat-slick chest. “Was it good?” 

“Don’t ask th’ question,” Tavor reaches a quivering hand over to tweak Thrain’s nose. “When ya know th’ answer damn good and well.” 

Thrain laughs, loud and breathless. “Is that an Eastern accent I detect? It must have been very good, then.” 

“Hush up!” Tavor pinches Thrain’s cheek, receiving another giggle and a playful swat. He doesn’t know how he picked up his uncle’s thick Eastern lilt in only four years. Or why it creeps out at certain moments when he’d pointedly corrected it on the way back to Erebor. Frankly, he’s a little embarrassed by it, but Thrain doesn’t need to know. “Was it enjoyable for you, as well?” 

“Of course it was, you did everything right.” Thrain nuzzles Tavor’s full, golden beard, then pauses. Pushes himself up somewhat, enough to properly lock eyes with Tavor. “I love you.” 

Tavor rumbles a laugh, lifting his hand to comb through Thrain’s damp curls. “I should hope so, considering what just took place.” 

Thrain’s face twists, indicating he has no patience for Tavor’s cheek at the moment. “No, I mean, well- I’m _in love_ with you.” 

“I love you, too.” He’d been intending to tease Thrain a bit, make him laugh some more, but now the air has turned heavy. Pressing them to the bed, against each other. Only Thrain’s powerful shoulders hold him up. Let him keep his watery eye latched to Tavor’s with a mix of fear and desire that drops the bottom out of the other man’s stomach. 

Tavor slowly tucks some tangled strands of hair behind Thrain’s large, pointed ear, making the jangle of piercings there glint in the dim candlelight. He says what feels like the truth. “You’re perfect, _azyungal._ ” 

Tavor can barely shut his eyes for the force of Thrain’s kiss. The older boy then crashes onto Tavor’s chest, knocking the wind from him, and tucks his head under Tavor’s chin, facing away. Tavor lies motionless for a few moments, then wraps his arms snugly around Thrain, stroking his back until they both fall asleep. 

* * * 

“You really think your father would disapprove that strongly?” Tavor barely looks up, focused on carefully stringing tiny gold beads into a wide, sturdy bracelet. “Why, because I’m a commoner?” 

“No.” Thrain picks at his still-unfinished supper of beef and greens. “Because you’re a man. I have to produce the next heirs.” 

“But you have five sisters,” Tavor’s tongue is between his teeth as he keeps hooking the beads together. “Presuming at least one of them marries, I’d say the line is pretty secure.” 

“It’s more than that. If I courted you publically,” Thrain jabs his fork into his half-eaten steak and leaves it there. “Everyone would say, ‘Now there’s a proper dwarf, he ought to be our king!’ And they’d be right.” 

Tavor sets his complicated commission piece aside. “Thrain…” 

“I’m a one-eyed, dainty little bookworm, who couldn’t even fight off his first pack of Orcs, and my father knows it.” Thrain’s fists tighten until the tendons bulge, and he glares at his lap. “I should have known when he first disapproved of my choice of apprenticeship it would eventually end up like this. He barely speaks to me. When he looks at me, it’s as if he’s in pain. Curse it all! If only I could abdicate!” 

Tavor comes around to Thrain’s side of the table, holding his shoulder and rubbing his arm soothingly. “But that would make Thror next in line and I couldn’t force that on him. Oh, if only Fili could be the heir, he’s practically perfect. Especially compared to me.” Thrain’s jaw quakes, it’s so tense, but his eye stays fixed downwards. “I’ve hurt my family so much already, but I keep running away and causing them more grief. As if I could reach the Shire and find my father’s affection hidden in a smial! Balri was right, I am pathetic.” 

“Don’t say that!” Tavor’s whole body twitches as if he’s been dunked in cold water. The prince’s runaway attempts have grown slightly less frequent, but Tavor knows where he is when he doesn’t come to visit, and it’s not inspecting the troops. He clutches at Thrain. “Don’t ever say that! That man,- that filth was never right about anything! Oh, Thrain, why can’t you believe that?” 

“It’s hard not to.” Thrain says after a pause, looking up at Tavor, his eye like broken glass. “Look at what I do to you. Monopolize your time and your home almost every day, why? I’m nothing but a whore for your affections. I’m a bigger threat to the line than dragonsickness, I’ll kneel for anyone who shows me a little attention. Look, I’ve even got a mark to prove it-” 

“ _Stop!_ ” Tavor grabs Thrain’s hand from where it’s reaching for the scar on his lower back and drops to his knees beside the prince. Thrain can be heartbreaking in these moments, even frightening. But Tavor presses their foreheads together and hold him anyway. 

“I’ll happily love you in secret for a hundred years,” Tavor opens his eyes after a moment and smiles gently. “If that’s what it takes to convince you that you’re so much more than what you were called.” 

The commission does not get finished until much later that night, when Thrain’s lanky body is curved against the column of Tavor’s right leg. It is this night, sitting up amongst tiny golden beads and staring at his quiver of arrows in the corner, that Tavor decides he will murder that stableboy should he ever be set in his path. 

* * * 

The years stretch on and Thrain grows with them. Just as he thought, he gets no taller and not much thicker. But the power of his lean yet sturdy body is honed, until his has no trouble completely pinning his lover when they spar. His hair finally reaches past his shoulders again, and his beard is nearly long enough to start braiding. His duties both royal and sacred increase, as does Tavor’s workload courtesy of Thrain talking up his skill at court. It’s not unusual for them to be apart for several evenings in a row. 

But there are just as many evenings where Tavor locks up, sweeps up, and heads upstairs following the smell of something delicious. Thrain will be standing over a bubbling pot or a churning roast in the diminutive kitchen, clad in an apron, deeply involved in the sprinkling of spices until he hears Tavor come in. Then he’ll turn his head, making the plait he’s pulled his hair into flop against his shoulder, and smile with impossible sincerity. “Welcome home!” 

That simple, saccharine image buoys up something strong and warm in Tavor’s heart. A secure, exciting feeling that lasts through their hello kisses, the delicious supper, and their sprawling in front of the fireplace. Thrain gushes about things he’s learned with a kind of enthusiasm that possesses a life and voice of its own, while Tavor keeps working on his pieces and listens to every word. 

And when they settle down, when it’s too early to go to bed and Tavor still has work to do, Thrain sings. Tavor stays very quiet, his steady hands carving and shaping away, scarcely looking up lest he disturb his lover. All concerns and worries of the day are blotted out by Thrain’s voice, which shifts as rapidly and is as passionate and exquisite as its owner. Some days, he brings his harp and adds another grand layer to the show. 

Eventually, Tavor finishes all the work he wants to finish and inches across the braided rug. Thrain’s voice fades out under the press of Tavor’s lips. They happily let the fire put itself out behind them before they take each other to bed. Thrain’s nightmares are not infrequent, and he snores like a bellows, but Tavor minds neither. He learns how to carefully awaken Thrain and soothe him back to snoring and drooling onto his chest. Tavor will giggle to himself and settle in. Always trying, but never remembering what he did with his evenings before this man came along. 

This goes on, uninterrupted, for several years. Until the day Thror forgets how to knock. 

Since the prince spends so much time with him, Tavor has become known to the family as “Thrain’s friend.” Queen Bella even sent a supper invitation through Thrain once. But Tavor was so clearly mortified at the thought, Thrain patted his hand and made a polite excuse. That Tavor was far too shy to come dine with people such as them, which was very much true. The other half to that was that it is one thing to deceive your father, it’s another to deceive your king. 

Nevertheless, Tavor does occasionally run into the Queen and her nephew, as well as the other prince and princesses, whereas before he’d only briefly met Prince Kili at archery training, and Thrain, of course. They even patronize his shop, and become aware of his living quarters upstairs. That’s probably why young Thror has no qualms about swiping Thrain’s spare key off his desk, and walking right in when he’s sent by Thorin to fetch his brother for important royal business. 

Tavor never regrets giving that key to Thrain so much as when the younger prince walks in on what one might call, a very close moment between them. 

Thrain has the quilt around his middle in barely enough time to throw himself between his brother and his bedmate. It’s a good thing Thrain is properly bulked up by this point, because Thror is built like a boulder and dragging him kicking and bellowing from the room is no easy feat. 

Tavor stays frozen in bed, with only the thin pillows to cover himself. Thror’s eyes had been nearly red with anger, and Tavor knows why. He sits, stock-still and red-faced, as he listens to the brothers quarrel outside the door. Thror is very much under the impression that Tavor was doing the same as that scum Balri had done. Thrain is having a hard time convincing him otherwise. 

“Thror, you must listen to me! Remember when you admitted to having feelings for Mister Dwalin when you were young?” 

“For Mahal’s _sake_ , Thrain! Everyone carried a torch for Mister Dwalin when they were little! This is not even _close_ to the same thing!” 

Speaking of the Maker. Tavor continuously asks to be taken to the Halls right here and now, but his request is not fulfilled. He feels somewhat forsaken. 

The shouting does subside, after many painful minutes, into emphatic, strained whispers. Then silence, and some shuffling that sounds something like careful embracing. Thror’s voice calls out, low and worn down. “Hey, you can come out now, I’m not going to kill you.” 

Tavor covers himself as best he can with the largest pillow and slips out of the room. He practically pastes himself to Thrain’s back, causing the older man to hiss “Tavor!” 

“You took the only blanket!” Tavor hisses back. He dares to glance at Thror, who looks hurt, tired, and disturbed all at once. 

“Thrain explained everything to me. Sorry for uh,” he licks his lips. “Barging in, on you, like that. Hurt him and I’ll find you. I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Wait!” Tavor’s face heats even more at the sound of fear in his own voice. Thror turns back, raising an eyebrow at him. “So...you’re not going to tell anyone?” 

Thror is silent for a moment, eyes steely and jaw tight. “No, of course not. Keeping secrets is what I do.” 

He stomps down the stairs without another word, and Thrain gets dressed without so much as saying farewell. He doesn’t return for a week, tied up with princely duties. He covers Tavor with kisses when he finally returns, but doesn’t quite apologize. Tavor is hurt, but decides to say nothing. Because Thrain makes him so happy, and is such a kind, sensitive soul. Tavor has no desire to rock the boat. 

And that’s the first sign of trouble. 

* * * 

“You can’t really mean that. You must want children eventually!” 

Tavor flicks his eyes up, spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth. “Actually no, not in the slightest.” 

Thrain twirls his own spoon, face creased with dismay. “Why not?” 

“To have a child means,” Tavor swallows thickly. “Being responsible for this whole other person’s health, wealth, and happiness. I don’t want that when it’s not a sure bet that they won’t,” Tavor shoves another spoonful of boiled fowl in his mouth and shrugs. “Grow up feeling like I didn’t love them, or something.” 

Thrain’s eye crinkles up, his head tilted slightly as he reaches across the small table. “But you would love them. They’d be your own.” 

“Yes, I would, but I probably wouldn’t be any good at showing it.” Tavor drags his spoon in a slow circle through the thick broth. “I know my family loves me, but they don’t go out of their way to show it, I guess. They’re not like your family, with all the hugging and- Sorry, I’m not making any sense.” 

“Oh, _azyungal_.” Thrain comes around the table and clasps Tavor’s hands in his, gazing down at him gently. “You could become good at showing it, if you tried, I’m sure. You’re so good at everything else you’ve worked at, after all.” 

“I appreciate the encouragement, love.” Tavor leans, pressing his cheek to Thrain’s firm stomach and nearly purring when a hand strokes through his simple braids. “Do you think your father sired children with the intent of things ending up where they are now?” 

“He’s only bad with me.” Thrain relaxes his grip and wrinkles his nose. “He’s perfectly amicable with Thror and Frodo, spoils Amara and Terra, and encourages Dis and the twins in everything they do. Not to mention all the time he spends with Fili and Kili.” As remuneration for the injuries they sustained defending him in the Battle of the Five Armies, and their being ousted from their positions as the next-in-lines, Tavor’s been told this story before. 

“Even still, I couldn’t risk that happening.” Tavor brings Thrain’s limp hands up to kiss the stained fingers. “If there’s no way to be certain it won’t, then I shan’t try.” 

“Is that how you plan to spend your days?” Thrain steps back, face drawn in as he gathers the dishware. “No risks, no chances, no adventures?” 

“I am not a Took.” Tavor laughs, thinking on what Thrain’s told him of his hobbit side as he helps clear the table. “Caution kept my parents alive when Smaug came, I’m naturally inclined to follow them.” 

“Isn’t our carrying on this way a risk?” 

“It’s,” Tavor stumbles, meeting Thrain’s pinched expression with a wince. “It’s a calculated risk.” 

Thrain says nothing to that, but does regard him strangely for a moment before they move to the sink. He sings a grand chorus through the washing up, and embraces Tavor afterward, but something feels perfunctory. Tavor senses Thrain is disappointed with him, but again, neither of them choose to say anything. 

Their exchanges end that way more and more often as the year goes on. Tavor still enjoys their time together, he does. But there’s a growing divide between them. Neither of them wants to admit it, until Thrain’s thirty-ninth birthday arrives and a question comes with it. 

“What are we going to do after your coming-of-age ceremony?” 

Thrain retreats in on himself, flicking his thumbnail over the crumbling edge of the fireplace. “Ah, I hadn’t really thought of that. But I suppose we could, you know, sleep separately until you’re of age as well?” 

“And then what?” 

Tavor sees Thrain chewing on the inside of his cheek in the flickering light. “Perhaps I could court you properly? I’m not as afraid of Balri as I once was, and-” 

“Thrain, that’s not going to work.” Tavor’s voice comes out firm, though a lump grows in his throat. “This isn’t going to work. We’re not going to get married, we’re not going to make a home together, we’re not going to live happily ever after.” 

“But,” Thrain’s voice is reedy and his shoulders slump as if weighed down with lead. “I love you.” 

“I know.” Tavor breaks, lunging to pull Thrain into a tight embrace as hot tears spill down his cheeks. “I love you, too! But it’s not enough, I can’t-We can’t do this anymore.” 

Thrain chokes out a few sobs against Tavor’s firm shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant to put you through so much. I’m so sorry.” 

Tavor shushes him, stroking his hair and pressing him even closer. “It’s not that, not even a little. We, we went too fast.” Tavor urges Thrain back, feeling a new lump form when he sees how broken Thrain looks. “Think, when this began, we were only as old as young Dis and Thror are right now! What would you say if you found one of them pledging their life to someone?” 

“Tell them they’re too young,” Thrain chokes and wipes his nose unattractively on his sleeve. “And they’re rushing into things. But we’re-!” 

“I’m not your One, Thrain, nor are you mine.” He sucks in a wet breath, hands shaking as they clutches at Thrain’s upper arms. “As much as I wish you were.” 

The two boys collapse against each other and sob until their heads pound, making a mess of themselves, as well as each other’s shirts. When they calm down, Tavor stokes up the dying fire while Thrain catches his breath. 

“So now what?” Thrains voice is weak yet sharp. He hugs his knees to his chest like a child. “We say farewell and act like none of this ever happened?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Tavor sets the poker aside, crawling over to touch Thrain’s knee and shoulder. His heart breaks when Thrain flinches away. “I thought that we might enjoy the time we have left, and perhaps learn how to be friends instead of lovers.” 

“Yes, of course, because that always works out so well!” The venom in Thrain’s voice goes right to Tavor’s heart, but he steadies his grip on the older man and takes a deep breath. 

“Thrain, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I might ever love anyone. I can’t be your counsel, or your husband, but I have no intention of tossing you aside and forgetting you.” Tavor brushes his lips softly over Thrain’s still-damp cheek. “Not after all you’ve done for me.” 

“I haven’t done a damn thing for you,” Thrain looks away. “Nothing that really matters anyways.” 

“That’s not true.” Loving Thrain has meant dealing with violent nightmares and countless emotional tripwires, and moodswings that have made Tavor want to pull his hair out, yes. But it’s also meant coming home to his beautiful voice and hands and smile, being hugged more times in a week than he has been in a lifetime, feeling like the sun was something Thrain made for him as a gift. Thrain’s been the home for Tavor’s heart, and he’ll never forget how that feels. 

Tavor takes Thrain’s chin in his work-roughened fingers and turns it so he can look Thrain directly in the eye. “Please, know that that’s not true.” 

The conversation between their reddened eyes undoes them both, again. They sit close together, limbs cramping and foreheads pressed firmly together as they weep. When their sobs subside this time, Tavor does not move away. He wraps himself around Thrain and rocks them slightly, back and forth, for a long stretch until he fears Thrain has dozed off from exhaustion. Then he mumbles against Tavor’s neck, “Is this attempt at friendship a calculated risk as well?” 

“No, it’s just,” Tavor swallows yet another lump, hating the him of many months ago. “It’s something worth trying despite the possible consequences.” Thrain slumps against him, blocking his face from view. Tavor prays he worded that right and sighs. “If only I could do something to show you I mean what I say. Something _permanent_.” 

There’s a moment of quiet, before Thrain’s ears twitch ever-so-slightly and Tavor feels a little smile against his chest. “I have an idea.” 

Sketching out the designs gives them something to do together, without leaving them room to think about the inevitable end. Neither of them are part of the pen-and-paint set like Thror, but they do their best to make sure the rough sketches communicate what they must to the tattoo artist. 

After much scribbling and more talking, they settle on the designs. Rectangular blocks, almost like pieces of cloth, stretching from inner elbows to wrists. Mostly black, but for two negative space hands reaching from each end to meet in the middle and grasp a simplified heart, topped with the crown of Durin. The old symbol of duty and honour to the Durin line. Khuzdul quotes from the Maker’s Verses, as chosen by Thrain, run along the borders in miniscule script. Tavor’s would be on his left arm, Thrain’s would be on his right. 

They both decide they want a matching one on the other arm, to look “even,” as well as to cover their scars. The rectangular block is the same, but the centres are different. Tavor draws a small songbird, and a little stream of what he hopes will turn out to be proper music notes pouring from its beak. Thrain decides on a large, simplified star, its stylized glow exaggerated. 

“That’s what you are, you’re my Northern Star, always guiding me home.” Thrain holds his cheeks and kisses him, completely unashamed of his sentimentality. His expression only wilts once he pulls back. “You don’t have to do this. It’s a lot of ink, and you don’t even like piercings!” 

“I’ll be fine. I want to do it.” Tavor is quite insistent, though he does agree they wait at least a month before actually getting it done. Thrain is correct, watching or having piercings done makes Tavor ill. He isn’t even sure why, since he’s not otherwise put off by blood or sharp objects. He had turned quite green when he’d had his earrings done as a child, and had to rush out when Thrain had brought him along one time. It’s embarrassing and nonsensical, but he will own it. 

The tattooist’s needle does not bring about the same reaction, thank Mahal. It’s not pleasant and he grinds his teeth, but with Thrain holding his shoulder, he toughs it out. Thrain doesn’t even blink twice, having a pain tolerance level many would kill for. The tattoo artist (Mister Dwalin’s preferred, Thrain would go to no other) is kind to both of them, doesn’t ask any questions, and does strikingly beautiful work. 

The night both sets are finally done, the boys naughtily take the bandages off and gasp their way through the pain just to relish the slide of their ink on the other’s. 

“Before I reach my centennial,” Thrain vows to Tavor’s bedroom ceiling. “I’m going to have all my scars covered. Not just the ones I made, the burns too. That way, no one will look at me anymore with such pity, they’ll just wonder what the marks mean.” 

“You’ll be a walkin’ piece of art,” Tavor slurs, tongue heavy with sleep. His hands slides ticklishly over Thrain’s chest. “Yer already well on your way.” 

The tattoos on his inner arms are Thrain’s first, but his piercing collection is extensive well before he comes of age. An extensive assortment on each ear, a hoop through one nipple, three around and one in his navel, a broad one clasping the strip of hair halfway between his navel and breastbone, one on the surface of each hip, and a couple beneath his smallclothes that baffle Tavor endlessly. Each one, aside from his initial earlobe piercings, had been done during or just following one his runaway adventures. 

“D’you think I’m beautiful, then?” Thrain asks, openly mocking Tavor’s slipping accent because he knows he can. 

Tavor smacks his ribs lightly before lifting his hand to press lightly on Thrain’s cheek. “Very much so.” 

* * * 

The boys make the very best of the time they have left, and know when it is time to let go. 

“I’m only saying, we should give each other some room.” Tavor pleads, sniffling pathetically once again, three days before Thrain’s fortieth birthday. “Until midsummer, that’s all. We both need to be on our own for a while before we can be around each other again.” 

“No, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Thrain props his elbows on the table and wipes his face, collecting himself. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. I know you won’t abandon me, it’s just that- I just don’t fancy being all alone again, that’s all.” 

“You won’t be all alone. You’ll have your brother and sisters, and little Frodo, and your mama, and who knows?” Tavor takes Thrain’s hand and forces himself to smile warmly. “Perhaps you’ll meet someone at your birthday celebration, and you can tell me all about them come midsummer.” 

“Perhaps.” Thrain smiles back, still watery-eyed, and turns Tavor’s hand over to admire the tattoo. He brightens significantly after a moment, grin spreading. “Perhaps I could introduce you to them, if they’re nice enough?” 

“Aye, I would like that.” Tavor drops his eyes, rubbing circles over the joint of Thrain’s thumb with his own. It feels like a stone drops in his chest. “It’s late, you should go on home.” 

“...Yes, I suppose I should.” The men stand and walk to the door in silence. Thrain nearly throws himself at Tavor, pulling him into the most constricting hug he’s ever experienced. He sobs a few times before letting out a desperate little “This hurts so much.” 

“It does.” Tavor replies, voice more choked from emotion than the pressure on his lungs. His hands fumble, trying to grip the man beneath the wool and weapons and leather. He nudges his way into a kiss that steals the breath from both of them. Thrain is the first to pull back, looking at him in that shattered way that breaks Tavor. The younger man bites his lip, “Midsummer?” 

“Midsummer.” Thrain promises, kissing Tavor’s nose one last time before leaving the flat in a rush. 

Tavor truly appreciates the benefits of living on one’s own that week. He can bawl foolishly into his pillows in complete privacy, he can drink too much without disturbing anyone, and he can do both at the same time. Later, he appreciates the quiet in which he can smoke his pipe and think on every moment of the last seven years. Tavor is resigned to his decision, but also thoroughly confident that he’ll never again meet anyone quite like Thrain. 

That thought is what lets him be happy instead of regretful when they reunite. Thrain arrives, basket of food in hand and music on his lips as always. But this time, instead of leaning across the table in an attempt at seduction, he does so in excitement. Unable to contain how fond he is of this young lady he met, who is apparently both exceptionally kind and exceedingly intelligent. And oh, Tavor, did I mention she tutors at the orphanage in Dale? Isn’t that just wonderful? She’ll be a most excellent scribe some day, and she’s not exactly hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean. She’s just splendid all over! 

“So, what’s her name?” Tavor inquires after fifteen minutes of uninterrupted chatter, a wry smile curving his lips. 

“Her name? I forgot to tell you her name, how embarrassing!” Thrain giggles the way he does only when no one else is around, rubbing the back of his neck as colour glows high on his cheeks. “Her name is Neva, daughter of Ori. She’ll make a wonderful wife for someone, someday. Oh, I hope she give Mister Ori grandchildren! He’s been so lonely, you know, his wife died when I was about two. He has a portrait of her in his sitting room, Neva looks just like her! It’s a bit strange, you know, considering all the similarities between them. Did you know that Neva-” 

Tavor might be the only one who is not in the least surprised when it takes Thrain a full year to understand his feelings., and that Neva still has to kiss him first. 

**_ FIN  _ **


End file.
